•MORE 
LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 


BY 

THOMAS   BURKE 

AUTHOR  OF  "LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS,"  ETC. 


NEW  ^taJr  YORK 
GEORGE   H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1921, 
BY  GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED  IN  THE  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 


TO 

WINIFRED 


CONTENTS 

I  PAGE 

THE  YELLOW  SCARF 11 

II 
A  GAME  OF  POKER t.       33 

III 

KATIE  THE  KID ,.,     .     ..       49 

IV 

THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD    .      .      .      .     -.,     .      .        65 

V 
THE  DUMB  WIFE .        77 

VI 
BLUEBELL 95 

VII 

A  FAMILY  AFFAIR .      .     117 

VIII 

THE  LITTLE  FLOWERS  OF  FRANCES    .      .      .      .     133 

IX 

THE  PERFECT  GIRL     .      .      .      .  .      .      .     143 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 


PAGE 

THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE       .,      .,      .      .      155 

XI 
BIG  BOY  BLUE .171 

XII 
MAZURKA 185 

XIII 
THE  SCARLET  SHOES    ........      197 

XIV 

THE  GOOD  SAMARITANS  ,.      .  221 

XV 

TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS    .......     231 

XVI 
Miss  PLUM-BLOSSOM      ........     245 

XVII 
THE  CANE 259 

xvin 

THE  SONG  OF  Ho  LING  271 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF 


—I— 

THE  YELLOW  SCARF 

THE  shape  and  soul  of  Shadwell  are  reflected 
in  its  name.  Shadwell!  Cold,  grey,  stony 
syllables,  without  lustre  or  savour;  flat  to  the  eye  and 
the  palate.  It  lies  derelict  between  the  river  and 
Commercial  Road.  Its  main  streets  are  forlorn  and 
bleak  of  aspect,  and  are  named  in  cruel  mockery — 
Formosa  Terrace,  Acacia  Grove,  Plum-tree  Walk, 
Laburnum  Court.  Its  dominant  odours  are  fried 
fish  and  bilge-water.  Its  colour  by  day  is  of  cobweb ; 
by  night,  of  the  jungle.  Its  noise  is  persistent;  a 
brown  drone  overriden  by  intermittent  crashes.  It 
is  sliced  at  intervals  by  alleys  without  light,  whose 
silence  is  not  peace,  but  silence  so  tense  that  one 
knows  it  must  soon  be  broken  by  some  sound  of 
dread.  On  the  flood-tide  floats  from  Limehouse  the 
bitter-sweet  alluring  smell  of  Asia;  and  the  spring  > 
comes  slowly  up  this  way. 

It  is  a  circus  of  harsh,  unavailing  endeavour.  Here 
wealth  does  not  accumulate,  though  men  decay.  Its 
people  are  casual  labourers,  outcasts,  petty  thieves, 
ineffectual  shopkeepers.  They  are  for  ever  splash- 


ii 


OUjjj : ..:  /-.MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

ily  busy,  without  aim  or  hope,  in  this  and  that  puny 
enterprise;  and  are  perpetually  harassed  in  chasing 
the  cocky  and  elusive  one-and-sixpence.  Their  eve- 
nings are  as  stressful  as  their  days,  for  they  bring 
to  the  quest  for  entertainment  the  flurried  zeal  that 
directs  their  businesses.  In  the  beetling  tenement 
houses  they  set  their  gramophones  buzzing.  In  the 
mission  halls  venturesome  voices  lift  the  bathos  of 
hymn-tun£s  to  tragedy.  From  dim-lit  bars  the  de- 
bilitated music  of  electric  pianos  brings  ill-tidings  of 
the  search  for  gaiety;  and  above  them  all  blares  the 
band  of  the  Salvation  Army,  strenuously  wanton. 
/  In  a  minor  street  of  this  district  stood  once  a  small 
shop  with  dim,  reticent  windows.  Through  these 
dusty  windows  sniggering  boys  would  peer,  and 
would  nudge  one  another  with  furtive  comment. 
The  stock,  dusty  as  the  windows,  seemed  to  have 
been  thrown  together  by  disdainful  hands.  There 
were  faded  photographs  of  monster-limbed  ac- 
tresses, in  tights ;  a  few  books  in  paper  covers,  with 
titles  matching  the  maladroit  archness  of  the  photo- 
graphs; some  bottles  of  scent  with  variegated  labels; 
and  little  packets  of  toilet  accessories.  The  ill-in- 
formed might  have  assumed,  from  the  style  and  con- 
dition of  the  display,  that  the  owner  was  letting  his 
r  isiness  run  to  ruin;  while,  in  fact,  he  was  doing 
very  well. /The  goods  in  his  window  were  not  ex- 
posed for  sale;  they  were  a  nod  and  a  wink  to  the 
knowing  ones  that  he  had  other  tricks  up  his  sleeve. 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  13 

The  shop  bore  no  name  on  the  front,  but  it  was 
known  to  be  the  property  of  one  Mr.  Bronsden.  He 
was  a  most  worthy  man.  He  kept  himself  to  him- 
self; and  in  England  there  is  no  more  certain  way  of 
winning  the  respect  of  one's  neighbours.  He  was 
a  large  man.  His  visage  was  sour;  his  complexion 
sanguine,  ytiis  head  was  thatched  with  a  mass  of 
beer-coloured  hair.  His  clothes  and  linen  were  al- 
ways soiled,  and  he  kept  himself  in  tune  with  them, 
and  walked  with  humility  in  side  streets.  Sour  as 
his  visage  was,  he  could,  on  occasion,  be  jocose,  and 
was  so  with  esteemed  customers;  but  jocosity  came 
heavily  from  him,  and  his  jokes  were  as  sour  and 
muddy  as  the  lips  over  which  they  crawled. 
/  This  Bronsden  owned,  besides  a  comfortable  little 
business,  a  wife.  Few  people  had  seen  her.  Few 
people  indeed  had  even  had  sight  of  his  private 
apartments.  He  was  not  a  man  who  took  pride  or 
joy  in  his  possessions.  Though  the  wife  was  a  recent 
acquisition,  he  took  less  account  of  her  than  some 
of  his  customers  took  of  their  home-made  rabbit- 
hutches.  Perhaps  he  was  justified,  for  he  had  picked 
her  off  the  streets/  This  is  an  action  whose  merit 
cannot  be  denied/ for  he  found  her  when  she  had 
been  but  a  few  days  in  that  situation,  and,  by  his  in- 
tervention, she  was  snatched  from  its  attendant  c£? 
lamities.  Beaten  and  broken  she  was  wandering 
about  the  streets,  when  he  came  across  her,  and  lis- 


14.  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

tened  perfunctorily  to  her  bitter  words  that  were 
half  appeal  and  half  defiance. 

Without  any  clear  motive,  he  gave  her  shelter. 
Then  he  dismissed  the  old  woman  who  played  at 
attending  him  and  robbed  him  of  food  and  money, 
and  installed  Hetty  in  her  place,  and  married  her. 
The  contract  was  plainly  set  forth;  she  entered  his 
establishment  as  indoor  servant,  with  duties,  per- 
sonal cash  allowance,  household  allowance,  and 
reasonable  freedom  of  movement.  Her  position 
only  differed  from  that  x>f  the  ordinary  domestic 
help  by  her  being  joined  in  holy  matrimony  to  her 
employer:  a  rite  upon  which  he  had  insisted  so  that 
she  should  be  his  fixed  property. 
rNow  should  she  have  been  proud  of  the  dignity 
conferred  upon  her — a  wastrel  of  the  alleys;  and 
for  a  few  weeks  she  was.  Then,  being  a  servant  in 
a  good  home  ceased  to  content  her.  She  wanted  to 
stir  delight  in  the  muffled  heart  of  Bronsden,  and^ 
found  that  it  was  not  in  her  power  to  do  so.  In  her 
company,  or  without  it,  he  was  passive;  her  flutter- 
ing gesture  and  gamesome  eye  drew  no  response  or 
quickening  of  the  blood  from  him.  He  accepted 
her,  as  he  accepted  his  pipe.  Yet  beauty  rested  in 
her  weary  face  and  her  flowing  figure,  and  she  knew 
it  and  longed  for  its  recognition.  Because  he  was 
oblivious  of  her  charms,  she  began  to  hate  him  land 
because,  to  her  honest  mind,  this  neglect  afforded 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  15 

no  proper  reason  for  hatred,  she  began  to  cast  about 
for  a  reason. 

Shevsoon  found  one.  Her  distaste  for  her  situa- 
tion developed  rapidly.  I  think  she  was  not  a 
woman  of  normal  sensibilities.  Though  he  was  a 
strong,  silent  man,  she  could  not  reverence  him. 
Though  he  was  hard  and  heavy  with  his  tongue,  she 
did  not  admire  the  brute.  She  was  foolish  enough 
to  want  things  to  which  she  was  not  entitled :  gentle 
hands,  and  respect,  and  little  courtesies.  Bronsden 
looked  down  to  her  from  stony  heights,  but  she  did 
not  look  up  to  him.  He  had  taken  her  from  the 
streets  in  his  big,  abstracted  way,  on  her  first  journey 
of  misery,  and  had  made  her  respectable.  He  had 
given  her  money  for  frocks  and  chocolates  and  knick- 
knacks.^  By  Shadwell  standards,  he  was  the  perfect 
husbangiJ^He  was  kind,  in  his  aloof  way,  and  oc- 
casionally sportive.  She  was  indeed  in  a  position 
to  be  envied.  But  ...  he  was  her  rescuer,  her 
benefactor.  By  all  human  ideas  he  was  entitled  to 
her  gratitude  and  her  service.  In  the  eyes  of  the 
world  she  was  deep  in  his  debt.  It  was  this  fact 
that  bit  and  burned  her  heart  night  and  dayy  Here- 
in she  found  good  and  sufficient  reason  for  hatred. 

In  a  room  at  the  rear  of  his  shop,  looking  on  to 
a  blank  wall,  he  had  fixed  a  laboratory,  and  there 
he  toiled  by  day  and  increased  the  wadded  brown 
smell  of  Shadwell  as  he  compounded  his  dreadful 
medicines  and  surgical  goods.  To  the  shop  would 


16  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

come  often  men  of  horrid  aspect  and  slinking  de- 
meanour. They  would  murmur  diffident  words  to 
Bronsden  and  would  follow  him  through  the  living- 
room  to  the  laboratory  at  the  back;  and  there  the 
two  would  remain  in  murmurous  confabulation,  with 
interjected  sniggers.  And  in  the  living-room  Hetty 
would  sit  and  feed  upon  her  hate.^5^ 

Now  all  men  are  not  so  impervious  to  the  graces 
of  woman  as  this  Bronsden.  Tom  the  Toff  was  an 
inflammable  young  man;  what  is  known,  in  certain 
circles,  as  a  warm  member.  One  glance  from  bright 
eyes  would  set  him  alight.  He  was  as  combustible 
as  powder.  And  when,  one  morning,  he  passed 
Hetty  in  St.  George's,  her  eyes  applied  the  match. 
He  followed  her.  He  noted  where  she  lived,  and 
hung  about  each  morning  to  watch  for  her  appear- 
ance on  the  street  with  market  basket.  Time  was 
his  own;  for  he  was  Tom  the  Toff,  a  free-lance,  who 
worked  West  End  crowds  for  purses  and  handbags. 
He  had  an  easy  conquest.  She  was  as  ripe  for  the 
bold  smile  of  this  debonair  philanderer  as  he  for  her 
sidelong  glances. 

He  'found  early  occasion  for  visiting  the  morose 
Bronsden  in  the  way  of  business./He  had  a  long 
talk  with  Bronsden.  He  told  a  tale,  and  listened  to 
Bronsden  expatiating  on  the  merits  of  his  remedies. 
Then  he  mentioned  casually  that  he  had  a  good  deal 
of  business  in  the  West  End;  it  might  be  worth 
Bronsden's  considering  whether  he,  Tom  the  Toff, 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  17 

could  work  an  agency  for  him  among  West  End 
gentlemen.  This  proposal  Bronsden  considered,  and 
it  became  necessary  that  Tom  the  Toff  should  visit 
the  shop  many  times  for  conferences  and  discussion 
of  terms.  Within  a  week,  Tom  the  Toff's  presence 
in  the  shop  was  accepted  as  casually  as  the  presence 
of  a  partner. 

f. And  Hetty  no  more  sulked  and  gnawed  herself 
in  the  living-room.  A  light  step  on  the  threshold  of 
the  shop  filled  her  with  music  and  laughter.  Youth 
leapt  to  youth.  And  when  Bronsden  was  busy  in 
the  laboratory,  and  could  not  be  disturbed,  there 
were  delicious  minutes  when  they  stood  in  each 
other's  presence,  and  looked  and  talked — oh,  any 
kind  of  talk,  but  a  very  special  kind  of  look.  /  It  was 
inevitable  that  she  should  turn  to  him.  For  he  had 
nothing  to  give  her,  in  the  way  of  material  comforts. 
His  West  End  raids  were  intermittent,  and  yielded 
a  precarious  income.  It  was,  this  time,  for  her,  to 
give ;  and  she  gave  him  with  both  hands  the  gift  of 
her  love. 

Tom  the  Toff  felt  the  frigid  atmosphere  with 
which  Bronsden  filled  the  house,  and  knew  its  effect 
on  a  limber-hearted  girl.  At  first,  in  her  presence, 
he  was  shy  and  diffident,  dropping  his  easy,  non- 
chalant air,  and  becoming  awkward.  By  this  Hetty 
knew  that  their  hearts  were  beating  in  tune,  and  by 
exquisite  gesture  and  significant  attitude,  sharper 
messengers  than  any  words,  they  made  mutual  dis- 


18  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

covery.  The  barriers  went  down,  then;  and  they 
discoursed  freely,  as  though  there  were  no  Bronsden 
bulking  between  them. 

But  Bronsden  was  still  there.  Others  knew  it, 
if  Tom  and  Hetty  forgot  it.  Tom's  father  knew  it, 
and  said  so. 

"Wodyeh  think  yer  up  to?"  he  would  inquire. 
"Eh?  Going  into  business  as  a  dealer  in  trouble — 
or  what?  This  kind  o'  thing's  going  to  be  a  lot  o' 
use  to  you,  ain't  it?  Messin'  yesself  up  with  another 
chap's  wife.  And  what  a  wife !  Yeh  know  where 
'e  found  'er,  doncher?  Remember  I'm  yer  father. 
I  seen  more  o'  the  world'n  what  you  'ave  Besides, 
there's  'im.  'E  ain't  a  man  what  says  much,  but, 
begor,  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  on  the  wrong  side  of 
'im.  Them  quiet  kind,  when  they  breaks  out,  they 
breaks  out.  And  Gawd  'elp  the  one  they  breaks 


on." 


But  Tom  paid  little  heed  to  dad's  garrulous  ad- 
monitions. He  had  heard  of  dreadful  things  hap- 
pening to  other  people,  but  it  had  never  seemed  likely 
that  dreadful  things  could  happen  to  him. 

"I  warn  yeh!"  went  on  dad.  "I  warn  yeh.  If 
anything  comes  o'  this,  yeh  can't  say  I  'aven't 
warned  yeh." 

"No,  yer  right  there,"  replied  the  respectful  son. 
"I  couldn't  truthfully  say  that,  considering  yer  at  it 
morning  and  night.  Yeh  got  a  nice  pleasant  voice, 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  19 

dad,  but  I  wonder  yeh  don't  sometimes  get  a  bit 
tired  of  'earing  it.  I  do." 

In  the  living-room  at  evenings,  Hetty  would  be 
notably  vivacious  and  happy-eyed.  Springtide  hung 
about  her  and  moved  with  her;  but  the  satunne 
Bronsden  ate  his  supper  and  saw  nothing.  Until, 
reckoning  too  boldly  on  his  obtuseness, /Tom  the 
Toff  presented  Hetty  with  a  yellow  silk  scarf  And 
Hetty,  drunk  with  glamour,  wore  it. 

At  supper  on  the  night  of  its  presentation,  Brons- 
den noticed  it.  Only  deliberately  could  he  have 
ignored  it.  It  was  a  brilliant  yellow  hue,  with  a  long 
silk  fringe.  With  it  about  her  shoulders  Hetty  could 
have  been  picked  up  at  a  mile  distant. 

"Where  d'you  get  that?" 


"Thai  scarf  ya 

"Oh,  that?"  airily.    "Oh,  Tom  the  Toff  give  me 


om  the  Toff  gave  you  that ?    Whaffor?" 
"Oh,  just  a  sort  of  present,  like.    Sort  of  acknowl- 
edgment of  what  he's  made  out  of  placing  your 
stuff^up  there." 

it  to  me,"  he  said  gently. 
"What?" 

"Take  it  off  and  give  it  to  me." 
ir™7haffor?" 

[is  eyes  snapped.    His  voice  rose.    "Never  mind 
what  for.    Give  it  to  me." 


20  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"Of  course  I  shan't.     It  was  given  to  me." 

He  stretched  a  hand,  and  spoke  gently.  "Give 
me  that  scarf." 

"Shan't." 

In  one  movement  his  great  form  rose  from  the 
table  and  came  to  her.  With  a  twitch  of  the  hand 
he  snatched  it  from  her  shoulders,  crumpled  it  into 
a  ball,  and  thrust  it  into  his  pocket. 

"Understand,  girl,  that  you're  my  wife.  I  don't 
let  my  wife  have  presents  from  other  men.  See? 
Understand  that?" 

Hetty  shrank  back.  The  shock  of  his  action  had 

staggered  herj?  "Wha — wha — wha "  Then 

tears  came,  and  sobs,  and  she  beat  herself  with  her 
fists,  unable  to  beat  him.  Then  words  came. 

"You  beast!  You  brute.  Gimme  back  my  scarf. 
I'm  not  your  slave.  I  ain't  going  to  be  crushed  like 
this.  You  stifle  me.  You  treat  me  like  dirt.  Gimme 
my  scarf." 

"My  wife  won't  take  presents  from  other  men. 
Understand?" 

"No,  I  don't.%  If  I  am  your  wife,  I'm  a  human 
being.  I  got  a  right  to  live,  ain't  I^kOh,  I  know. 
.  .  .  You  think  'cos  you  played  the  Good  Samari- 
tan, you  can  dp  what  you  like  with  me.  But  you 
can't.  You  can't.  I'll  show  you  you  can't." 

"Now,  Hetty,  why  talk  like  that?  It  isn't  true. 
You  know  it  isn't.  Have  I  ever  once  thrown  it  up 
to  you — about  where  I  found  you?  Have  I?" 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  21 

She  knew  he  had  not,  and  the  fact  angered  her 
more.  She  went  on  in  a  torrent  of  words: 

"You  crush  me.  You  never  speak  a  word  to  me. 
One  wouldn't  know  you  got  a  tongue.  It's  like 
living  with  the  deaf  and  dumb.  You — you — you're 
fat,  y — you're  old.  You  make  me  sick  the  way  you 
treat  me.  'Cos  you're  dull  yesself,  you,  want  to  make 
me  as  dull.  But  I  won't  be  dull.  .There!  I'll  do 
what  I  like.  I  bin  a  good  wife  to  "you — you  can't 
say  I  ain't — and  I  alwis  looked  after  you  proper. 
Why  shouldn't  I  talk  to  Tom  the  Toff,  if  I  want  to? 
Where's  the  harm  in  that?  If  you  won't  talk  to  me, 
you  can't  stop  me"  talking  to  someone  else  who's — 
who's  bright — and — and  lively  and — and  got  a  bit 
of  go  in  him." 

"Now,  Hetty.  Now,  girl.  What's  the  matter 
with  me,  exactly?  Where  am  I  wrong?  He  sought 
to  soothe  her  with  his  voice,  tolerantly,  as  one 
soothes  a  querulous' child.  It  was  the  wrong  way. 

"Oh,  shut  up!  You're  all  wrong.  You — your 

ways  and  your  manners  and "  She  knew  what 

she  wished  to  say,  the  fine  distinctions  of  character 
she  wished  t<%draw;  but  her  range  of  words  was 
restricted.  "Anyway,  I'll  please  myself.  A  wife's 
supposed  to  be  mistress  of  her  own  home,  ain't  she? 
I'm  like  a  kitchen-maid  here.  I  ain't  hardly  able  to 
call  me  soul  me  own.  But/you  may  as  well  know 
that  I've  asked  Tom  the  Toff  to  supper  to-morrow 
night." 


22  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

His  manner  changed  from  the  soothing  to  the 
ruffled.  His  face  began  to  close  up.  "Oh,  you  have, 
have  you?  And  what  have  I  got  to  say  about  it?" 

"Don't  know  and  don't  care.    Gimme  my  scarf." 

"Torn  the  Toff  won't  come  to  supper  to-morrow 
night." 

"He  will!"  she  screamed. 

"He  won't.  He  won't  come  into  this  shop  again./ 
He  came  closer  to  her.  "You  can  assert  your  right 
to  please  yourself  in  some  other  way.  Not  this  way. 
Understand?  I  don't  coop  you  up  or  stifle  you. 
I've  only  tried  to  protect  you  against  yourself — 
against  your  own  ignorance.  If  I  hadn't,  you'd 
soon  a-been  sliding  back  to  where  I  found  you.  And, 
Hetty,  don't  try  any  tricks  with  me.  See  ?  Two  or 
three  people  have  found  out  that  it  don't  pay  to 
play  tricks  with  me." 

She  glared  back  at  him,  and  saw  something  in  his 
face  that  made  her  suddenly  afraid.  "You  talk  to 
me  as  if  I  was  a  kid !"  she  protested  sullenly.  "Why 
can't  you  treat  me  properly?" 

"Have  I  ever  ill-treated  you?" 

"Not  the  way  you  mean.  But  you  done  it  by  tak- 
ing all  the  life  out  o'  me.  By  taking  no  notice  of 
me — not  more'n  if  I  was  that  table.  Gimme  my 
scarf." 

"I  shall  not  give  you  that  scarf.  I  tell  you — if 
you  want  to  assert  your  right  to  please  yourself,  do 
it  some  other  way." 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  23 

"I  don't  want  no  other  way!"  She  ground  the 
words  from  her  teeth,  and  then  was  sorry.  Her 
secret  was  out.  She  knew  that,  from  the  dull  spark 
that  glowed  in  his  eye. 

He  regarded  her  intently;  then  said,  quietly,  as 
one  dismissing  a  trifle:  "I  shall  not  give  you  that 
scarf." 

She  glowered,  finished  with  words  and  without 
capacity  for  action.  He  returned  to  his  chair,  and 
relapsed  into  gloom.  And  for  the  rest  of  the  eve- 
ning they  sat  in  frightful  silence,  while  he  followed 
with  his  eyes  her  smallest  movement. 

When  she  moved  to  clear  the  tably  he  rose,  and 
went  into  his  laboratory.  She  watched  him  go  with 
hateful  eyes.  She  saw  him  no  more  until  midnight, 
when  he  came  out,  looking  tired  and  bent.  He 
moved  about  the  kitchen.  She  continued  to  read  the 
serial  in  The  Sunday  Fireside. 

"It's  getting  late,"  he  said,  after  a  long  silence. 
"You  coming  to  bed?" 

"Not  yet.    I  want  to  finish  this." 

He  hung  about  for  some  minutes;  then  went  up- 
stairs. The  moment  she  heard  the  click  of  the  bed- 
room door,  she  dropped  The  Sunday  Fireside,  and 
got  up. 

"The  beast!  Treats  me  like  a  kid,  he  does.  I 
won't  be  treated  like  this.  I  wonder  if  he's  got  it 
on  him.  Or  whether  he's  hidden  it." 

She  lit  a  candle,  and  went  into  the  laboratory. 


24  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Here  she  pottered,  nosing  around,  pulling  things 
about,  opening  drawers,  humming  and  fretting  to 
herself.  At  last  she  found  it.  He  had  screwed  it 
tight  into  a  ball  and  had  thrust  it  into  an  old  tin  box. 
She  snatched  it  savagely  away,  and  thrust  it  inside 
her  corsage. 

"Ha !  Mr.  Clever  Dick.    I'm  as  smart  as  you.^ 

Bitter  fury,  loose  and  without  dignity,  possessed 
her.  Her  mind  was  yapping  at  his,  and  snarling  and 
grimacing  like  a  whipped  child.  His  suave  de- 
meanour under  the  quarrel  had  increased  her  hatred 
of  him.  She  knew  that  she  had  dropped  all  grace 
and  had  become  ludicrous  in  her  rage,  and  she  envied 
him  his  self-sufficiency.  But  she  thrilled  at  the  fact 
that  she  had  retrieved  the  scarf,  and  this  lent  her 
some  pride. 

/She  went  up  to  bed  swaggering,  and  no  word 
passed  between  them  that  night  or  next  morning. 
He  shut  himself  in  his  laboratory  till  noon.  Then 
he  came  out  for  dinner,  and  over  the  meal  broke  the 
silence. 

"Look  here,  Hetty,  we  can't  go  on  like  this.  It's 
too  silly.  If  you  want  Tom  the  Toff  to  supper,  he 
can  come.  And  anybody  else  you  like  to  invite.  I 
don't  want  you  to  think  I  crush  you.  If  it's  company 
and  society  you  want,  I  know  I'm  not  very  gay.  So 
if  it'll  make  you  happy  to  havehim,  have  him.  Peace 
and  quietness  is  all  I  want.J^ 

She  looked  up,  surprised  at  this  sudden  change, 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  25 

and  found  him  regarding  her  gravely,  scrutinising 
her,  passing  veiled  eyes  over  her  person.  She  was 
not  ready  for  this  surrender.  She  did  not  know  how 
to  accept  it. 

"Well,  I  do  want  company  and  all  that,'*  she  said 
lamely. 

"I  know.    I  know  I'm  old  and You  please 

yourself." 

"Oh,  well " 

so  the  quarrel  was  healed,  and  Tom  the  Toff 
came  to  supper.  With  that  supper  in  the  back  room 
her  desire  for  love  and  gaiety  endedVTom  the  Toff 
arrived  on  time,  and  found  the  table  laid  with  cold 
meat,  salad,  beer,  fruit,  cheese/ Bronsden  was  out, 
and  he  and  Hetty  snatched  a  few  rapturous  minutes ; 
but  before  she  could  tell  him  of  what  had  passed 
last  night,  Bronsden  returned,  bearing  a  tin  of 
salmon  and  a  bottle  of  whisky,  as  a  friendly  addi- 
tion to  the  table.  He  seemed  downcast,  preoc- 
cupied; but  he  greeted  Tom  the  Toff  with  his  usual 
detached  affability,  and  inquired  what  he  had  backed 
that  day. 

"Got  the  tin-opener  Hetty?  he  growled. 

She  brought  it,  and  he  set  to  work  on  the  tin.  It 
was  a  tough 'one,  and  awkward  to  hold,  tipping  up 
when  he  pressed  on  its  edge. 

"Dammit!  Just  a  minute,  Tom,  will  yeh?  This 
is  as  hard  as  steel.  Can't  get  the  point  in.  Hold 
it  firm,  will  yeh,  while  I  have  another  try." 


26  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Tom  came  to  the  table,  and  placed  both  hands 
on  the  tin,  holding  it  firm.  They  stood  close  to- 
gether, their  heads  meeting,  and  in  silence  Bronsden 
pressed  on  the  cutter  to  drive  its  point  through  the 
tin.  Then  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  high  ripping 
squeak.  The  cutter  had  slipped  along  the  edge  of 
the  tin. 

With  a  sharp  "Ow!"  Tom's  hand  flashed  to  his 
mouth. 

"I  say,  old  man!"  Bronsden  stood,  holding  the 
cutter,  his  attitude  one  of  much  concern.  "I  say, 
I'm  awfully  sorry.  The  cutter  slipped.  Damn  the 
thing." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right,"  said  Tom.  "It's  nothing." 
But  when  he  took  his  hand  from  his  mouth  the  blood 
ran  around  his  wrist  and  down  his  fingers  from  an 
angry,  jagged  wound.  It  came  pouring  out  to  the 
tablecloth,  and  down  that  to  the  floor.  It  was  no 
common  wound.  / 

Immediately  Hetty  swerved  from  the  side-table, 
where  she  had  been  cutting  bread. 

"Oh,  Tom!" 

"Bind  it  up!"  snapped  Bronsden.  "Quick!" 
Hetty  turned  about  the  room  with  hands  out  for 
bandage.  Then  they  flew  to  her  breast,  and  out 
came  the  yellow  scarf. 

Bronsden  had  gone  to  his  chair,  and  sat  back, 
calmly.  At  this  sudden  action  his  big  head  nodded 
in  two  minute  movements. 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  27 

"Where  d'you  get  that?"  he  said  quietly.  "I 
thought  I  took  it  away  from  you." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  twisted  the  scarf  into  a 
bandage. 

"Did  you  steal  that  from  my  room?" 

"Mind  your  own  business." 

"You're  not  to  use  it,"  he  said,  in  even  tones. 

"I  shall  do  as  I  please." 

"Hetty,  I  tell  you  not  to  use  it.    Get  the  towel." 

"Oh,  shut  up.     Can't  you  see  Tom's  bleeding?" 

"Very  well." 

She  fussed  over  Tom,  tender-wise,  maternally, 
and  wound  the  scarf  tightly  about  his  wrist.  Then 
she  forced  him  to  a  chair,  and  herself  sat  down. 
She  sat  down  with  a  flirt  of  defiance  too  strongly 
marked  to  carry  conviction  of  self-possession.  This 
accident  had  given  her  opportunity  for  open  chal- 
lenge of  this  man's  bondage.  She  sat  upright,  her 
attitude  expressing:  "Well,  and  what  now?" 

Bronsden  poured  two  glasses  of  whisky,  and 
passed  one  to  Tom.  "I'm  sorry,  old  man,"  he 
growled.  "Awfully  sorry.  Those  damn  tin-open- 
ers. I  always  said  they  were  dangerous.  Keep  your 
arm  up.  Hetty'll  have  to  cut  your  meat  for  you 
now,  and  feed  you." 

Suddenly,  Tom  emitted  a  gasp — another  gasp — 
then  a  scream.  He  pressed  his  free  hand  to  the 
damaged  wrist,  and  bent  forward.  His  teeth  were 
set  close,  his  face  twisted  in  pain. 


28  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"What  is  it?"  Hetty  cried. 

"Oo,  it's  burning!"  he  gasped.  "Burning  like 
hell.  'Strewth!"  Hetty  came  to  him,  in  agitation, 
but  as  she  reached  him  he  leapt  up,  and  dashed  him- 
self against  the  wall,  and  screamed.  Oo,  God,  I 
can't  stand  it!"  He  tore  at  the  scarf  and  unwound 
it  from  his  wrist.  "It's  going  all  over  me.  Oh, 
Hetty,  what  you  done  to  me?  What  you  done  to 
me  ?  I'm  going  all  funny.  When  you  put  that  scarf 
on  it  started.  Hetty!" 

He  sank  back  to  the  leather  sofa,  and  Hetty 
rushed  to  him.  She  grabbed  the  whisky  glass,  and 
held  some  to  him.  She  dithered.  And,  as  she  hung 
over  him,  uncertain  what  to  do,  unable  to  do  one 
thing  by  thinking  of  others,  she  was  suddenly  seized 
by  a  feeling  that  something  dreadful  had  entered 
the  room.  Involuntarily  she  turned  her  head  and 
glanced  about  her.  Then  she  saw  the  thing  that 
had  entered  the  room.  Bronsden  sat  immovable  in 
his  chair;  but  on  his  face  was  a  wry,  dark  smile. 

"What  is  it?"  she  cried  vaguely.  "What's  the 
matter?" 

"Nothing." 

"What  you  smiling  at?" 

"Nothing.  You  know,  I  told  you  not  to  use  that 
scarf." 

Tom  the  Toff  dropped  like  a  log  on  the  floor. 
She  looked  at  him  and  at  the  yellow  scarf  and  at 
the  door  leading  to  the  dreadful  laboratory,  and 


THE  YELLOW  SCARF  29 

back  at  her  husband.    She  went  and  stood  over  him. 
"You  damn  devil — wotter  you  done?" 
Quivering,  she  struck  him  in  the  face.     But  he 

only  smiled.    And,  though  she  struck  him  again  and 

again,  he  still  smiled. 


A  GAME  OF  POKER 


— n— 

A  GAME  OF  POKER 


AS  Archie  Plumpton,  known  to  his  circle  as 
Plum-plum,  stepped  from  the  glare  of  the  Blue 
Lantern  into  the  melting  radiance  that  it  diffused, 
and  from  that  into  the  inhospitable  darkness  of 
Poplar,  three  men  with  flat  faces  and  long  eyes  crept 
from  their  several  observation  posts  and  followed 
him.  One  walked  behind  him,  one  level  with  him 
across  the  street,  and  one  a  few  paces  ahead.  From 
a  side  street  ambled  a  small  hooded  van  drawn  by 
a  pony.  This,  at  a  discreet  distance,  joined  the 
party.  Plum-plum  walked  upright,  whistling  to  him- 
self, one  hand  in  trousers  pocket,  the  other  swing- 
ing free.  The  others  walked  silently,  with  an  air 
of  abstraction  and  concern  with  personal  affairs. 

It  was  a  warm  night  of  summer,  and  streets  and 
houses  were  stewing  in  a  viscid  heat.  Plum-plum 
strolled  airly  down  East  India  Dock  Road,  glad  of 
the  slight  breeze  that  wandered  from  the  river  and 
oblivious  of  the  peril  that  moved  busily  with  him. 
Certainly  he  had  asked  for  the  trouble  that  was 
coming  to  him;  for,  if  it  is  injudicious  to  be  funny 

33 


34  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

with  a  policeman,  it  is  more  than  folly  to  meddle 
with  the  affairs  of  a  Chinese  brotherhood.  Plum- 
plum  had  done  no  less  than  thrust  hand  and  foot 
into  the  intimate  affairs  of  the  Azure  Dragon  Tong. 

Word  had  come  to  him,  some  while  ago,  of  an 
accumulation  of  carven  vessels,  gems  and  other  ob- 
jects that  please  the  eye  of  the  connoisseur,  which 
lay  at  a  certain  house  in  Poplar  High  Street,  next 
door  to  which  he  had  sometimes  played  at  puckapoo. 
He  had  seen  the  stuff  through  the  window  of  the 
front  room,  and  had  almost  cried  with  professional 
vexation  at  seeing  such  a  haul  placed  within  finger- 
reach,  to  be  obtained  without  the  smallest  exercise 
of  technical  skill  or  finesse.  It  almost  seemed  be- 
neath his  position  to  take  them. 

But  he  did  take  them.  He  walked  in  one  after- 
noon, at  the  hour  of  sleep,  and  took  them  away  in 
a  bag,  and  passed  them  to  his  nearest  friend  and 
adorer,  Flash  Florrie.  He  thought  he  had  done 
only  what  he  had  done  many  times  before — inter- 
vened between  police  and  receiver  in  the  matter  of 
the  bunce.  He  did  not  know  that  he  had  admin- 
istered a  dreadful  affront  to  the  most  powerful 
Tong  in  Limehouse. 

He  was  soon  made  to  know.  Cold  anger  held  the 
Azure  Dragon  Tong  at  the  discovery  of  this  insol- 
ence. It  quickly  became  known  about  the  district 
that  it  was  Plum-plum's  work  and  the  boys,  once 
their  envy  of  his  slimness  had  passed,  talked  of  it 


A  GAME  OF  POKER  85 

with  appreciation  and  delight.  They  could  under- 
stand the  delicious  impudence  of  it,  and  admire  ac- 
cordingly; and  Plum-plum  became  a  public  hero. 
But  the  Tong  held  a  council  to  decide  what  proceed- 
ings should  be  taken  against  him.  The  president 
asked  who  accused  Plum-plum,  and  two  stepped 
forward  and  repeated  the  street-corner  stories.  To 
these  two  was  assigned  the  duty  of  entering  the 
house  of  Plum-plum  and  making  an  exact  search  for 
the  treasure,  at  whatever  cost  to  their  persons  or 
their  liberties.  This  was  done,  and  failure  reported. 
Plum-plum  came  home  one  night  and  found  his  three 
rooms  ransacked  and  torn  apart;  and  he  smiled. 
The  Tong  did  not  smile.  Another  meeting  was 
held,  and  it  was  decided  that  Plum-plum  himself 
must  be  secretly  apprehended,  and  made  to  discover 
the  whereabouts  of  their  property,  and,  after  suit- 
able punishment,  surrender  it. 

At  least  (they  held  among  themselves)  if  we  do 
not  by  the  means  we  are  about  to  employ  recover 
our  property — at  least  the  Englishman  will  receive 
a  lesson  that  it  is  unwise  to  interfere  with  our  affairs. 
He  shall  be  an  example  to  others. 

So  the  three  men  and  the  hooded  van,  now  dog- 
ging Plum-plum,  were  engaged  in  carrying  out  the 
decision  of  the  council.  And  Plum-plum  walked 
carelessly,  still  bearing  about  him  something  of  that 
public  glory  with  which  his  exploit  had  endued  him. 
He  was  a  dexterous  and  versatile  lad,  and  had  been 


36  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

desired  by  more  than  one  gang,  as  partner.  But 
he  preferred  to  play  a  lone  hand.  He  was  not  a 
crook  by  education  or  inclination.  He  would  have 
liked  to  be  a  decent  citizen,  but  found  decent  citi- 
zenship so  dull.  He  had  drifted  into  this  game  be- 
cause he  liked  its  soldier-of-fortune  atmosphere,  and 
because  he  was  too  wayward  and  impatient  of  hours, 
regulations  and  the  petty  bonds  of  legitimate  busi- 
ness. He  had  found,  too,  on  his  preliminary  flourish, 
that  he  had  a  marked  aptitude  for  it;  and  every  man 
likes  to  do  the  work  that  he  can  do  really  well  and 
without  conscious  effort.  He  wore  crime  as  a 
feather  in  his  cap.  He  could  appear  in  any  society 
without  crying  at  the  top  of  his  voice:  'Tm  a 
crook !"  He  could  get  away  with  a  policeman's 
truncheon  while  being  examined  on  suspicion.  He 
could  collect  money  for  the  missionaries  with  one 
hand  and  snaffle  the  donor's  watch  with  the  other. 
These  were  small  tricks;  he  did  not  preen  himself 
with  them.  It  was  the  bigger  things,  calling  for 
strategy,  that  afforded  him  delight.  But  he  had 
never  tackled  the  Chinese  before,  and  he  had  yet 
to  learn  that  his  tricks  with  them  were  as  paper 
swords  before  steel  weapons. 

To  the  end  of  East  India  Dock  Road  he  went, 
and,  at  the  Iron  Bridge  at  Canning  Town,  he  crossed 
suddenly,  and  passed  into  the  void  of  Plaistow 
Marsh  and  its  meagre  lamps  and  its  waist-high  mist. 
He  was  going  towards  Beckton,  where  lodged  Flash 


A  GAME  OF  POKER  37 

Florrie.  As  he  entered  the  Marsh  the  three  fol- 
lowers drew  together  at  a  corner  and  exchanged, 
tacitly,  emotions  of  satisfaction.  A  lonely,  lugubri- 
ous bell  announced  ten  o'clock,  and  the  notes  floated 
miserably  about  the  waste.  But  Plum-plum  was  not 
conscious  of  his  surroundings.  His  eyes  were  fixed 
on  the  line  of  lights  that  made  the  horizon,  and  he 
strode  with  nonchalant  step,  his  thoughts  hovering 
amiably  about  the  bright  person  of  Flash  Florrie 
and  her  sturdy,  tree-like  beauty. 

But  midway  across  the  Marsh  a  sudden  misstep 
of  one  of  the  Chinks  came  sharply  to  his  ears.  Mo- 
mentarily suspicion  entered  his  mind,  and  drove  out 
the  bees  and  butterflies  that  fluttered  there.  He 
stood  still,  and  heard  no  other  step,  and  knew  that 
he  was  being  followed.  This  was  nothing  new. 
He  was  often  shadowed  by  plain-clothes  men,  and 
could  always  feel  their  attentions  and  comport  him- 
self circumspectly.  But  plain-clothes  men  do  not 
walk  about  in  slippers,  and  the  step  he  had  heard 
was  a  slippered  step.  As  he  stood  there,  a  deeper 
sense  of  imminent  personal  danger  grew  within  him; 
and,  even  as  he  speculated  upon  its  nature,  it  ar- 
rived. 

The  struggle  was  brief.  He  fought  hard  for  a 
few  moments,  and  caught  a  glimpse  of  close,  round 
faces  and  long  eyebrows.  Then  something  was 
pressed  against  his  nose  and  he  fell  solidly  among 
them.  From  the  distance  the  pony-cart  came  to 


38  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

them;  and  into  this,  and  its  litter  of  greengrocer's 
baskets  and  potato  sacks,  he  was  bundled.  The 
three  companions  followed  him,  and  the  cart  moved 
forward. 

Slowly  they  crossed  the  Marsh,  while  Plum-plum 
slept  stupidly.  On  the  farther  side  they  chose  by- 
ways. They  rumbled  through  alleys  of  ebony 
darkness,  whose  very  noises  had  the  hard  quality 
of  ebony;  and  through  streets  parallel  with  the 
placid  river,  about  which  dodged  innumerable  nimble 
tugs.  Not  a  word  passed  between  the  company; 
a  profound,  uneasy  silence  held  the  van. 

And  so  they  came  to  the  little  lost  colony  of 
Cyprus.  Cyprus  is  a  frigid,  dusty  region  where  the 
four  winds  and  their  branch  winds  meet,  and  where 
the  sun  comes  seldom.  Its  houses  are  square  brick 
boxes,  at  whose  doors  squat  or  lounge  the  docksmen. 
About  the  stony  streets  the  children  gambol  day 
and  night;  and  from  slatternly  windows  peer  the 
women.  In  this  corner,  where  the  lips  of  the 
Thames  dribble  into  little  purposeless  canals,  silence 
cannot  live.  The  Chinks  had  chosen  their  location 
well,  for  the  business  they  had  in  hand.  From  year 
to  year,  hammer,  crane,  syren,  hooter  and  bell  per- 
form their  rough,  unceasing  music;  iron  against  iron, 
steel  against  steel,  with  a  chorus  of  nail  and  rivet; 
and  through  the  night  the  shunted  trucks  make  a 
melancholy  fugue.  The  glum  streets  and  forlorn 
shops  make  dreadful  efforts  to  assert  the  presence  of 


I 


A  GAME  OF  POKER  39 

humanity,  but  Work  prevails :  one  long-drawn  hys- 
teria of  toil ;  one  everlasting  hosanna  of  noise.  Men 
come  and  go  in  worried,  clamant  haste ;  and  through 
the  stupendous  turmoil  tramps  and  destroyers  crawl 
with  an  air  of  scornful  idleness. 

To  a  narrow  street  of  warehouses  in  this  ill- 
named  Cyprus  came  the  greengrocer's  van.  It 
stopped  at  a  tall  door  which  was  immediately 
opened,  revealing  a  steep  flight  of  stone  steps.  Up 
these  steps  Plum-plum  was  carried;  and  thence  to  a 
room  on  the  top  landing.  The  room  was  an  un- 
used room,  plainly  arranged  for  the  occasion.  The 
boards  were  bare ;  the  plaster  of  the  walls  had  fallen 
in  a  mess  of  chips ;  and  the  windows,  which  looked 
into  the  chilly  face  of  Cyprus,  were  heavily  swathed 
with  matting.  Four  lighted  candles  in  bottles  stood 
on  a  deal  box.  Round  the  fireplace  stood  a  screen, 
and  in  the  grate  a  clear  fire  was  burning. 

The  three  men  placed  Plum-plum  on  the  floor, 
and  one  brought  sturdy  cord  and  bound  his  wrists 
and  feet.  Another  brought  a  bucket  of  water,  and 
the  water  was  thrown  about  his  head  and  throat. 
After  some  seconds  he  opened  his  eyes  and  looked 
about  him.  He  raised  his  head,  and  tried  to  move, 
and  found  he  could  only  roll.  He  rolled  over  and 
looked  up,  and  saw  four  silent  yellow  men  regarding 
him.  He  looked  long  at  them,  slowly  coming  back 
from  his  deep  sleep.  Then  he  understood,  and 
spoke. 


v 


40  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"Well,  Oswald,  what's  the  game?  What-um 
you  fella  want  to  do  me?" 

One,  who  seemed  to  be  the  leader  of  the  party, 
and  was  addressed  as  Ah  Kang,  spoke  without  mov- 
ing. He  spoke  as  one  delivering  a  functional  ad- 
dress; in  the  cool,  sleek  tones  of  a  chairman  of  a 
company  meeting. 

"I  so  sorry  disturb  you,  misteh.  I  lika  little  talk 
with  you  'bout  t'ings  you  steal  from  my  flen  in 
Poplar.  Huh?  I  ting  we  talk  more  flenly  lika  diss." 

"Oh?  I  don't  call  this  friendly."  Plum-plum  in- 
dicated  the  cord  about  his  arms.  "I  could  talk  better 
if  you  untied  me." 

Ah  Kang  gave  a  little  indrawing  of  the  breath, 
as  one  appreciating  a  jocularity.  "Ho  yess?  We 
talk  'bout  t'ings  you  steal  us." 

"No  savee,  Oswald." 

Ah  Kang's  eyes  snapped,  but  he  did  not  move. 
"Wantum  jewels,"  he  said  in  peremptory  tone. 
"You  no  go  'way  less  we  get  jewels." 

"No  can.    Ain't  gottum  jewels." 

Ah  Kang  ignored  the  denial.  "What  you  do 
withum  jewels?" 

"No  can  tell.    Never  seen  'em." 

"You  talk  no-truth."  Ah  Kang  stepped  forward, 
and  motioned  to  the  others.  They  went  to  Plum- 
plum,  and  dragged  him  to  a  sitting  posture,  and 
pulled  aside  the  screen. 

"You  see-um  fire?"  asked  Ah  Kang. 


A  GAME  OF  POKER  41 

Plum-plum  looked  at  it,  and  saw.    "No  can." 

You  give  back  jewels.  You  tellum  where  they  go. 
And  it  will  be  betteh — much  betteh.  If  you  no  tell 
— prap  fire  'e  mek  you  tell.  Huh?" 

Plum-plum  looked  at  the  unblinking  fire  and  the 
shaded  faces  about  him,  and  felt  suddenly  sick.  He 
thought  of  Flash  Florrie,  under  whose  bed  rested 
the  property.  They  would  not  release  him  until  the 
treasure  was  in  their  possession,  and  if  he  told  them, 
he  must  remain  in  their  custody  while  they  went  to 
her  home.  By  what  method  they  would  recover 
their  property  from  her,  and  what  penalty  they 
would  inflict  upon  her  for  her  part  in  the  affront, 
he  did  not  like  to  think.  He  jerked  his  head  at 
them. 

"Look  'ere,  if  you  think  you  can  muck  about  like 
this  with  Englishmen,  you're  dam  fella  well  mis- 
taken— see?  If  you  don't  let  me  go  pretty  quick, 
there'll  be  heap  trouble  for  you — and  all  the  rest  of 
your  bunch.  So  I  tell  yeh !  Stop  this  foolery  plenty 
dam  quick  and  untie  me.  See!" 

Ah  Kang  stood  over  him.  "You  tellum  where 
jewels  are." 

"You  go  to  hell!" 

Ah  Kang  permitted  himself  to  smile,  and  flicked 
his  fingers  at  the  others.  The  screen  was  drawn 
around  the  fire,  and  Plum-plum  heard  the  clatter  of 
metal  instruments.  Next  moment  he  was  flung 
down,  and  his  coat,  shirt  and  collar  were  ripped 


42  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

from  his  shoulders  by  a  sharp  knife.  He  lay  quies- 
cent. To  struggle  was  futile.  To  shout  for  help 
he  knew  was  vain.  Where  he  was  he  did  not  know; 
but  he  knew  enough  of  the  Chinks  to  be  sure  that, 
having  planned  this  business,  they  would  have  been 
careful  to  carry  him  where  cries  for  help  would 
pass  unheeded. 

Ah  Kang  spoke  again  in  suave  tones :  "You  tellum 
where  jewels  are?" 

Plum-plum  spat  at  him,  then  shut  his  teeth  and 
looked  away.  From  time  to  time  the  others  moved 
about,  nodding  among  themselves  and  exchanging 
smiles  that  were  frightfully  discordant  with  the  busi- 
ness in  hand.  When  Ah  Kang  reproved  the  smiles 
they  went  behind  the  screen,  and  Plum-plum  heard 
them  murmuring  and  grunting  together.  He  heard 
the  crackling  of  the  fire,  the  rattle  of  coke  as  they 
replenished  it;  and  he  was  conscious  of  the  increased 
warmth  which  the  screen  could  not  effectually  en- 
close. 

There  are  some  things  before  which  no  man  can 
retain  his  faith;  to  which  the  body  must  surrender, 
however  steadfast  the  spirit;  and  Plum-plum  knew 
that  sooner  or  later  he  must  give  way.  No  creature 
can  endure  physical  pain  beyond  a  certain  point, 
and  that  point  is  determined  not  by  courage  but  by 
sensibility.  The  "strong"  man  is  a  creature  of 
blunted  nerves  and  brute  skin;  yet  even  he  has  his 
breaking-point.  Plum-plum  knew  that  his  breaking- 


A  GAME  OF  POKER  43 

point  was  very  near.  He  seemed  to  see  through  the 
screen  the  glowing  fire,  white-hot,  and  the  prepara- 
tions of  which  it  was  the  centre  and  he  the  object. 
He  felt  already  the  touch  of  hot  iron;  but,  until  he 
could  endure  no  more,  he  would  not  speak.  He  did 
not  suffer  fear,  but  he  did  suffer  a  physical  nausea 
that  almost  drained  him  of  resistance. 

He  knew  he  would  have  to  speak  before  he  left 
that  room — in  one  minute  or  two  minutes  or  five 
minutes;  yet  the  spirit  that  had  carried  him  so  aptly 
through  so  many  delicate  engagements  closed  his 
lips.  He  could  not  speak  now,  while  he  was  in  full 
control  of  his  faculties.  He  felt  that  to  do  so  would 
be  to  turn  himself  from  man  into  a  mere  husk  cov- 
ered with  everlasting  self-loathing.  Afterwards — 
after  that — he  would  not  be  himself;  and  neither 
words  nor  actions  would  carry  any  sting  of  self- 
reproach. 

uDissa  pokeh  prap  'e  mek  you  talk,  huh?" 

"You  go  to  hell!" 

From  the  streets,  the  strident  but  desirable  streets, 
came  distantly  an  organ's  titillating  music;  its  exu- 
berant vulgarity  overriding  the  stealthy  crackling 
of  the  fire  and  the  subdued  movements  of  the  hidden 
Chinks.  Then  Ah  Kang  uttered  a  curt  word.  Plum- 
plum  was  rolled  over,  and  one  pressed  heavily  on  his 
neck.  From  behind  the  screen  came  another  with  a 
poker,  its  point  glowing  red.  Plum-plum  heard  his 
slippered  step,  and,  though  he  could  not  see,  he 


44  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

could  follow  his  steady  approach;  he  could  follow 
the  movement  of  the  extended  arm;  he  could  feel 
the  glowing  thing  upon  his  back;  he  could  see  the 
horrid  mark  that  it  would  leave.  Ah  Kang  spoke 
again,  and  the  man  with  the  poker  made  a  slow, 
drawing  movement  with  it  across  the  shoulders  of 
Plum-plum. 

A  rendering  shriek  came  from  the  victim,  and  his 
whole  body  heaved  in  a  spasm.  Ah  Kang  made  a 
movement,  and  the  man  with  the  poker  stood  aside. 

"You  tellum  where  jewels  are  now,  or " 

Plum-plum  made  no  sound. 

"Huh?  You  no  had-um  plenty  lesson?  We  try 
again." 

Again  the  poker  was  drawn  across  his  shoulders, 
slowly,  lingeringly.  But  this  time  it  brought  no  cry, 
no  movement.  The  four  men  exchanged  glances. 
Ah  Kang  moved  to  Plum-plum  and  rolled  him  over. 
He  placed  a  hand  on  his  breast,  and  looked  up  with 
an  expressionless  face,  while  his  mind  suffered  won- 
der, perplexity,  anger.  They  would  not  now  find 
the  jewels.  Plum-plum  was  dead. 

"He  dead,"  said  Ah  Kang  stupidly. 

"Dead?"  The  others  echoed  him  stupidly.  They 
said  it  again  among  themselves,  and  all  looked 
stupidly  at  the  poker.  The  man  who  held  it  was 
twisting  it  and  snapping  it  to  pieces  in  his  hands — 
a  wooden  stick,  painted  to  resemble  steel, 
its  point,  painted  a  shrill  scarlet. 


A  GAME  OF  POKER  45 

So  they  stood,  dumb,  anxious,  impotent,  until 
one  of  them  went  again  to  Plum-plum  to  touch 
him  and  turn  him  over;  and  at  the  same  moment 
he  sprang  far  back  from  the  body  with  a  high 
scream  and  a  trembling  arm  outstretched  to  Plum- 
plum's  back. 

"Hee-yah!" 

Across  the  shoulders  was  a  long  brown  mark — 
the  seared  trail  of  a  red-hot  poker.  A  tense  and 
throbbing  silence  enveloped  them — a  silence  of 
superstitious  alarm;  and  in  the  close  heat  of  that 
room  they  drew  together,  shivering. 


KATIE  THE  KID 


—  m— 

KATIE  THE  KID 

KATIE  THE  KID  was  none  of  your  rapturous, 
languishing,  kiss-me  girls.  She  was  a  Stunner. 
She  was  a  Spanker.  She  was  a  jazz  of  a  girl.  She 
knew  Shadwell,  whose  dun  light  was  the  first  she 
saw,  as  few  people  know  their  native  place.  She 
knew  it  inside  out.  Many  times  had  she  taken  it  to 
pieces,  that  she  might  find  out  what  made  it  work; 
and  when  she  thus  tampered  with  it,  she  seldom  put 
it  back  correctly:  there  was  usually  a  cog  missing 
when  she  had  finished  with  it.  And  for  perhaps 
three  or  six  months  the  proper  motions  of  Shad- 
well  would  be  retarded,  while  the  cog  picked  oakum 
or  made  sacks  under  State  supervision. 

Yes,  Katie  the  Kid  was  a  nark.  She  was  by  no 
means  your  common  nark,  who  is  a  poor,  spiritless, 
servile  fellow,  cringing  to  his  employers  and  going 
in  bodily  fear  of  his  victims.  She  had  the  game 
well  taped.  She  knew  all  the  tricks  of  the  times, 
and  her  ample  sleeve  held  others,  not  yet  of  the 
times.  In  heart  and  sinew  she  was  concrete.  She 
took  money  from  the  gangs,  and  money  from  the 

49 


50  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

police,  and  sold  the  plans  of  each  to  the  other.  She 
walked  about  St.  George  Street  and  its  cowering 
alleys  with  the  tread  of  the  conqueror.  She  strode. 
She  moved  with  the  sturdy  grace  of  a  steel  ship, 
and  her  long,  lusty  limbs  swayed  forward  as  though 
making  way  through  advancing  seas.  A  nest  of 
dense,  crisp  curls  was  built  against  her  big,  bright 
face,  from  which  glowed  defiant  eyes  of  jet.  She 
wore  the  best  feathers  and  drank  the  best  beer,  and 
put  a  little  bit  by. 

And  then  the  big  fool  fell  in  love. 

She  fell  in  love  with  Freddie  Frumkin,  who  was 
beginning  to  be  known  to  vigilant  sportsmen  as  a 
likely  lad.  She  first  saw  him  at  a  series  of  trial 
contests  at  a  little  boxing  hall  on  the  south  of  the 
river ;  and  the  lithe,  quivering  figure  and  the  shining 
white  skin  of  him,  as  he  danced  about  the  ring  and 
received  blow  after  blow  with  game  nonchalance,  set 
her  too  a-dancing  and  a-quivering,  and  filled  her 
with  an  emotion  which  she  hardly  understood.  It 
was  new  to  her.  In  the  eighth  round  he  was  knocked 
out;  and  though,  hitherto,  she  had  felt  only  con- 
tempt for  the  defeated  in  any  kind  of  contest,  this 
knockout  blow  went  straight  to  her  heart.  It  first 
cracked — this  concrete  heart  of  hers — then  swiftly 
melted.  That  night  she  took  his  image  to  her  pil- 
low, and  lay  awake  in  blessed  brooding,  and  knew 
that  love  had  come  to  her;  and  being,  with  all  her 


KATIE  THE  KID  51 

tricks,  fiercely  modest  in  physical  matters,  she  was 
suddenly  abashed  and  humiliated. 

Soon,  diffidently,  by  means  which  every  woman 
can  employ,  she  sought  his  acquaintance,  and  won  it. 
By  the  same  means  she  made  him  know  the  state 
of  her  feelings ;  and  he — well,  he  was  a  big,  healthy 
boy,  and  when  he  looked  upon  this  big,  healthy  girl 
and  heard  her  words,  the  thing  was  done.  There- 
after they  went  about  together  and  agreed  in  every- 
thing. At  all  his  contests  Katie  the  Kid  was  present, 
as  near  the  ring  as  she  could  get,  to  exhort  him  to 
victory  and  blight  his  opponent  to  ineptitude. 

Glibly,  as  one  long  skilled  in  misrepresentation, 
she  told  him  her  story :  how  she  was  without  parents, 
and  worked  in  a  cigarette  factory  near  the  Tower; 
how  she  lived  alone,  and  spent  her  spare  time  in 
reading  books  borrowed  from  the  Free  Library,  and 
never  went  about  with  boys,  or  strolled  along  her 
local  Monkey's  Parade,  deeming  such  doings  un- 
worthy any  self-respecting  girl.  Whereat  Freddie 
glowed,  and  wondered  that  so  sweet  and  gentle  a 
girl  should  have  seen  anything  in  a  rough  young 
pug  like  himself,  or  should  even  suffer  his  company. 
He  told  her  so,  and  said  that  she  made  him  feel 
ashamed,  and  made  him  want  to  do  better  and  big- 
ger things.  You  know  how  it  is  with  your  first  girl. 

On  this,  Katie  began  to  think.  She  began  to  think 
about  herself,  and  her  stock  of  self-esteem  dropped 
sharply.  If  she  inspired  Freddie  Frumkin  with  a 


52  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

desire  for  nobler  ways  of  life,  he  in  turn  inspired 
her  with  yearnings.  He  was  so  clean  and  cool  and 
simple  that  she  discovered  in  herself  a  desire  for 
clean  and  cool  and  simple  things.  She  tried  suddenly 
to  cut  the  nark  business  and  the  secret  commission 
business.  To  the  loud  derision  of  the  Geranium 
Street  police  station  she  started  the  follow-the- 
gleam  business.  As  no  man  is  so  ardent  a  teetotaller 
as  your  reclaimed  dipsomaniac,  so  with  Katie  the 
Kid.  She  placed  herself  in  the  hands  of  the  local 
Settlement  Workers,  and  set  about  looking  for 
steady  and  decent  employment.  It  was  even  said 
that  she  was  to  attend  the  open-air  mission  meetings 
at  the  corner  of  Love  Lane  on  Wednesday  eve- 
nings; but  the  police  prevented  this  last  indecency. 
Such  backsliding  didn't  suit  them.  They  made  a 
grand  remonstrance. 

"Dammit,"  said  the  sergeant,  "what  the  hell's 
she  want  to  turn  pious  for?  With  anybody  else 
it'd  a-bin  all  to  the  good  for  us.  But  her!  We 
can't  get  on  without  her.  We  gotter  git  her  back 


some'ow." 


They  did.  Remonstrances  failed,  but  economic 
pressure  succeeded.  Her  savings  were  soon  ex- 
hausted ;  and  wherever  the  local  Settlement  Workers 
went  among  employers,  with  stories  of  her  industry 
and  moral  rectitude,  they  found  that  the  police 
had  been  before  them.  There  was  no  job  for  Katie 
the  Kid.  So,  quietly,  she  took  up  again  her  secret 


KATIE  THE  KID  53 

duties.  Fortunately,  Freddie's  home  was  by  Ber- 
mondsey  Wall,  and  was  severed  from  hers  by  the 
river.  Gossip  of  the  North  side  seldom  reaches  the 
South,  and  they  had  no  common  friends.  Thus  she 
was  able  to  continue  as  a  nark  in  Shadwell,  while 
in  Bermondsey  she  was  a  factory  hand  with  yearn- 
ings towards  self-culture. 

Three  evenings  a  week,  when  Freddie  was  not 
engaged,  she  would  go  to  him,  and  they  would  walk 
comfortably  together  in  the  flare  and  glitter  of 
Jamaica  Road,  where  the  girls  parade  with  frolic- 
some frocks  and  gleeful  eyes;  or  down  the  more 
modest  byways  where  lights  are  few.  It  was  just 
after  her  return  to  her  old  employment  that  Freddie 
spoke  casually  of  his  need  of  a  punching-ball.  He 
was  not  yet  promising  enough  to  attract  gifts  of 
equipment  from  backers,  and  he  had  only  the  gym- 
nasium at  the  boxing  booth  in  which  to  train,  which 
was  a  damn  nuisance.  A  punching-ball,  to  be  fixed 
in  the  back-yard  of  his  home,  would  be  the  very 
thing.  But  they  were  damn  expensive. 

Katie  pondered  the  idea  at  night,  and  she  guessed 
why  he  could  not  purchase  the  ball.  There  had  been 
rides  on  the  bus  on  Sundays,  some  visits  to  the  local 
music  hall,  and  a  little  gilt  cross  and  chain  for  her 
sapling  neck.  From  her  there  had  been  as  yet  no 
gift:  her  savings  were  gone,  and  for  the  moment 
crime  was  short,  and  there  was  little  coming  in 
from  the  police.  She  went  home  that  night  to 


54  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

devise  means  of  raising  money  and  to  study  sport- 
ing papers  for  some  hint  as  to  the  price  of  punching- 
balls. 

Next  day  something  came  her  way.  In  the  street, 
local  gossip  made  much  of  the  theft  of  many  rolls 
of  cloth  from  a  dry-goods  warehouse.  Thieves 
and  cloth  were  well  away,  and  the  police  were  "pur- 
suing inquiries."  The  sergeant  sought  Katie,  met 
her  in  the  street,  flicked  an  eye  at  her  and  disap- 
peared down  an  alley.  She  followed  him. 

"Ah,  Katie — just  looking  for  you.  Got  a  job 
for  you.  You  heard  about  this  cracking  of  Hig- 
ginses'  place.  Well,  there's  four  dozen  rolls  of 
cloth  gone — good  stuff,  too.  We're  stuck  on  it,  for 
the  moment.  We're  watching  all  the  boys,  but 
haven't  got  anything  so  far.  Now,  it's  up  to  you. 
Higginses  are  offering  a  reward,  and  if  you  can 
put  us  on  to  the  stuff  or  the  men,  you'll  do  yourself 
a  bit  o'  good.  I  dessay  there  might  be  a  couple 
o'  quid  in  it  for  you.  See  ?  So  put  yer  back  into  it." 

"Right-o !    I'll  have  a  look  round." 

That  day  her  mind  ran  on  rolls  of  cloth  and 
punching-balls.  A  couple  o'  quid.  That  ought  to 
be  sufficient  for  the  purpose.  So  she  set  to  work, 
the  punching-ball  suspended  before  her,  with  gentle 
thoughts  flitting  about  it,  while,  in  the  recesses  of  her 
mind,  the  rolls  of  cloth  covered  some  crushed,  but 
still  moving  instincts.  It  was  her  first  job  since  her 
reformation;  and  soon  the  old  fever  of  the  hunt 


KATIE  THE  KID  55 

crept  into  her  veins.  It  ran  with  her  blood,  and  set 
a  pace;  and  the  thrills  that  some  find  in  strong 
drink  and  some  in  sex  and  some  in  works  of  art 
coursed  about  her  shoulders. 

Into  the  dark  places  of  Shadwell  she  went;  into 
places  where  discreet  men  would  not  go ;  into  places 
of  dirt  and  crawling  beastliness.  She  went,  too,  into 
bright  places;  into  well-kept  taverns,  where  men 
were  clean  and  flashily  dressed.  She  hung  about 
highways  and  alleys.  She  gathered  a  word  here, 
a  half-sentence  there.  She  drarik  heavily  with  old 
acquaintance  and  casual  company.  It  was  Dick  the 
Duke  who  set  her  on  the  way,  with  a  shrug  and  a 
few  words. 

.  "Getting  about  a  bit  to-day,  ain't  you,  Katie? 
What's  the  game,  eh?  You  ain't  going  to  tell  me 
you're  on  Higginses'  affair?  Eh?  Good  lord! 
Fancy  wasting  yer  time  on  that.  You're  worth  bet- 
ter jobs  than  that.  Blasted  lot  of  amateurs. 
They've  hid  it,  kid.  Hid  itl" 

Katie  made  no  clear  reply  to  his  perfunctory 
remarks,  but  stood  him  another  drink  and  drank 
with  him ;  and  had  another  at  his  shout.  Then  she 
strolled  idly  away.  There  was  but  one  place  in 
Shadwell  where  amateurs  hid  things,  and  to  that 
place  she  went.  Near  the  old  Basin,  she  stopped 
at  an  open-air  coffee  caravanserai,  labelled 
"Jumbo's,"  which  stood  under  an  arch,  backed 
against  the  doors  of  a  disused  storage  vault.  She 


56  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

took  a  cup  of  coffee  here,  and  used  her  eyes.     She 
made  goo-goos  at  Jumbo,  and  chi-iked  him. 

"Got  a  new  suit,  eh,  Jumbo?  My  word,  we're 
coming  it,  ain't  we?  Nice  bit  o'  cloth,  too." 

A  minute  movement  at  the  corner  of  his  lips  on 
the  word  "cloth,"  which  would  have  been  unper- 
ceived  by  others,  or  have  conveyed  nothing  if  it  had 
been  perceived,  satisfied  Katie.  She  was  watching 
for  it. 

She  ambled  back  to  Geranium  Street. 

"I  found  that  bunce  of  Higginses." 

"Good  girl.  You  shall  have  a  nice  sweety  for 
that.  Where  is  it?" 

"Old  Jumbo's  got  it.  In  that  vault  behind  'is 
place.  'Tanyrate  'e  knows  all  about  it." 

"Oho.  We'll  send  round  and  have  a  little  chit- 
chat with  Jumbo." 

"Right-o!  I'll  wait.  When  do  I  get  the 
dough?" 

"Just  as  soon  as  we  confirm  it,  ducky." 

The  officer  called  for  a  plain-clothes  man,  and 
assigned  him  to  a  friendly  cup  of  coffee  with 
Jumbo.  Within  half-an-hour  he  returned. 

"I  seen  Jumbo,  and  warned  him.  Same  old 
Jumbo.  Injured  innocence.  First,  he  didn't  know 
nothing  about  it.  Then  minding  it  for  some  cus- 
tomers of  his.  However,  I  put  the  wind  up  him 
prop'ly.  They're  calling  for  the  stuff  to-night — 
or  one  or  two  of  'em  are — and  I  got  a  list  of  all 


KATIE  THE  KID  57 

the  names  out  of  him.  It's  a  gang  of  six,  ap- 
parently. I  got  the  names  'ere.  I  warned  Jumbo 
extra  special,  and  put  it  across  him.  Said  we'd 
have  him  for  a  stretch  if  he  so  much  as  winked 
an  eye.  So  if  we  wait  till  to-night  we  can  catch 
'em  removing  it,  and  then  round  up  the  others. 
Jumbo  won't  move  at  all — he's  too  fond  of  his 
own  skin." 

"Right-o!     Well,  we  may  as  well  have  an  ob- 
servation man  on  there,  in  case.     Get  Gordon  on 


to  it." 


"Satisfied?"  asked  Katie. 

"Yes,  kid,  that's  all  right.  Here  you  are. 
Now  go  and  get  yesself  a  good  rump-steak,  with 
lashings  of  onions — you  look  a  bit  all-gone." 

She  took  the  money,  but  her  first  thought  was 
not  of  food,  but  of  the  shop  in  Cable  Street  where 
athletic  goods  were  sold.  To  it  she  went,  and 
returned  with  her  purchase.  In  her  one-room  home 
she  cooked  herself  a  hotch-potch  meal,  with  tea; 
and  when  she  had  eaten  she  straightened  herself,  and 
set  out  for  Bermondsey. 

During  the  walk  her  mind  gambolled  in  pleas- 
ant pastures.  She  saw  Freddie's  strong  white  arms 
at  work  upon  the  punching-ball,  and  glowed  with 
pride  as  she  anticipated  his  raptures  at  the  long- 
desired  gift.  They  met  near  Cherry  Gardens 
Pier,  where  it  is  dark,  and  at  once  his  arms  were 
about  her,  and  his  lips  upon  .hers,  while  she 


58  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

fingered  lovingly  the  blue  scarf  about  his  neck. 
Then  they  walked  slowly  towards  Jamaica  Road. 
Under  the  lamplight  he  noticed  the  unwieldy  parcel 
she  was  carrying. 

"What  you  got  there,  kid?" 
"Aha!  Never  you  mind.  You  wait  and  see." 
He  led  her  to  the  "Man  in  the  Moon,"  kept 
by  a  friend  of  his,  who  allowed  him  the  use  of 
the  back  room,  where  were  seats  and  a  fire.  He 
was  in  high  feather.  "Now,  Katie,  order  what 
you  like.  I  bin  a  bit  short  o'  the  ready  lately,  but 
I  just  clicked  fer  a  bit  from  old  Briggles,  who's 
trying  to  get  me  a  match  with  Dotty  Jewett.  I 
reckin  I  could  settle  'im  in  three  rounds  if  it 
comes  orf.  So  'ave  just  what  yeh  like."  She  chose 
a  port-and-lemonade,  and  he  ordered  a  dry-ginger 
for  himself.  "Now  then,  let's  'ave  a  button-hook 
at  yer  parcel." 

Proudly  she  tossed  it  to  him.     "Open  it." 
He    opened   it.      "Well,    I'm    damned!      Now, 
Katie!     Now  who'd  a-thought  of  you  doing  that? 

Now,  reely!     But,   I   say Well,   well,  well. 

And  you  bin  an'  bought  this  fer  me?    No,  but • 

Well,  there!  You  didn't  ought  to  'ave,  though. 
Reely,  Katie,  you  didn't.  They  cost  a  lot  o'  money, 
I  know.  More'n  you  can  prop'ly  afford.  You 

didn't Oh,  you  dear  kid!       If  you  ain't  a 

real  pal!"     He  tossed  the  ball  to  the  ceiling,  and 


KATIE  THE  KID  59 

caught  it,  and  grinned  broadly,  and  tossed  it  back 
again,  then  became  serious. 

"No,  but,  Katie — you  shouldn't  a-done  it. 
You've  'ad  to  work  damn  'ard  fer  this,  I  know.  A 
lot  of  overtime  and  saving-up.  Fancy  you  think- 
ing all  this  of  me,  though.  Just  what  I  wanted, 
too.  And  from  you!  Katie — you  think  too  much 
of  me.  I  ain't  'alf  good  enough  fer  you.  I  don't 
deserve  that  a  girl  like  you  should  think  so  much 

of  me.     I   ain't  worth  you — your — love.     I 

'Ere — what's  the  matter?    Katie!" 

For  suddenly  Katie  spluttered  over  her  port, 
and  burst  into  a  howl  of  sobs,  and  big  tears  ran 
for  the  first  time  down  those  firm,  dry  cheeks. 

"Why,  Katie  kid,  what's  up?  There  now — you 
bin  overworking — that's  what  it  is.  You  ain't  bin 
feeding  properly.  You  bin  starving  yesself  to  get 
this  ball.  'Ere,  I  say— oh,  Katie!" 

"Oh,  I  can't  keep  it  up  no  longer,  Freddie. 
'Tain't  what  you  think.  It's — it's  me.  It's — it's 
your — 1-love.  It's  the  way  you  think  of  me.  I 
ain't  worth  it.  I'm  a  beast.  I'm  a  liar." 

"  'Ere,  don't  be  silly,  kid."  He  spoke  roughly, 
awkwardly.  "Pull  yesself  together!" 

"I  can't.  I  can't  keep  it  up  no  longer.  It's  no 
good.  Not  when  you  talk  to  me  like  you  bin  doing. 
You're  so  clean  and  strong  and — and — right.  And 

I'm I  told  you  I  worked  in  a  cigarette  factory, 

and  kep'  meself  respectable.     And  it's  all  lies.     I 


60  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

never  bin  in  a  factory.     And  I  ain't  respectable. 

Go  away.    Don't  come  near  me.    Lemme  go  'ome. 

I  didn't  buy  that  ball  by  saving  up  or  overtime  at 

the  factory.     I'm — I'm  a  c-copper's  nark.     That's 

what    I    am.      A    dirty,    sneaking    copper's    nark. 

That's  what  bought  your  punch-ball.    Narking.     It 

ain't  fit  for  you  to  use.    It's  dirty.     Chuck  it  away. 

And  chuck  me  with  it,  f er  making  you  love  me  and 

1-leading  you  on  w-with  l-lies." 

She  put  her  head  to  the  table,  and  Freddie  turned 

about  the  little  room,  shamed,  apparently,  at  the 

sight  of  woman's  distress ;  but  his  eyes  were  bright. 

He  dug  his  hands  deep  into  his  pockets. 
"Er— Katie?" 
"  'M." 

"You  ain't  telling  me  anything.     I  knew." 
"You  knew?    Knew  what?" 
"What  you  was.    I  knew  it  before." 
"Knew?    When?    Who  told  yeh?" 
"I  known  it  all  along.    From  the  first." 
"You  known  it  all  along?    And  bin  out  wi'  me, 

and  kep'  up  wi'  me?    You?    You  let  me  go  about 

wi'  yeh,  and  said  all  those  things  to  me,  as  though 

you  meant  'em?" 

"I  did  mean  'em.     I  do  mean  'em." 

"You — so   clean   and  straight,   going  about  wi' 

me,  knowing  what  I  was?" 

"  'M.     I  knew  you  was  a  nark.     But  I  didn't 

want  you  to  know  I  knew  in  case  I  should  lose  yeh. 


KATIE  THE  KID  61 

So  I  let  you  think  I  believed  about  the  cigarette 
factory.  'Cos — Katie — I  see  something  fine  about 
you.  About  the  way  ybu  loved  me.  I  see  you 
wanted  to  be  something  better,  cos'  of  me — like  I 
felt  about  you.  I  knew  you  tried  to  cut  it  out — 
over  in  Shadwell.  I  'card  all  about  it.  And  I  knew 
then  that  you  was  all  right.  And  I  loved  you  more 
for  it.  Any  feller  would.  And  I  says  to  meself — 
she's  straight,  although  she's  bin  a  nark,  and  she 
loves  me,  and  as  soon  as  I  can  get  a  bit  together 
she  shall  come  out  of  it,  and  we'll  make  a  fresh 
start.  That's  what  I  said.  And  I  ain't  going  to 
throw  you  away.  It's  fer  you  to  do  the  throwing. 
Listen,  Katie.  I  loved  you,  knowing  what  you  was. 
You  loved  me,  thinking  I  was  different  from  what 
I  was.  What  d'you  think  my  job  is?" 

"Boxing,  ain't  it?" 

He  made  a  noise  of  disgust.  "Boxing?  No! 
Boxing's  only  a  side-line  with  me.  I  want  to  be  a 
boxer,  but  there's  no  money  in  it  yet.  Katie — I'm 
just  a  common,  dirty,  side-door  burglar — that's  what 
I  am.  It  was  me  and  a  pal  what  did  that  business 
of  cloth  from  Higginses  what's  all  over  the  news- 
papers to-night,  and Hi!  George!  Quick — 

brandy — quick!  Katie's  all  gone!" 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 


—  IV  — 
THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD 

AS  unsearchable  as  the  heart  of  kings  is  the 
heart  of  a  child.  It  is  good  to  believe  that 
the  heart  of  a  child  is  the  symbol  of  sunshine,  clear 
as  joy;  but  it  is  good  sometimes  to  face  facts  and  to 
recognise  that  the  hearts  of  children  are  fashioned 
in  as  many  shapes  and  colours  as  the  hearts  of  men. 
In  a  corner  of  the  saloon  bar  of  the  Blue  Lantern 
sat  one  night  Mr.  Barney  Flowers.  Mr.  Barney 
Flowers  was  a  cold,  lean  man,  frugal  of  speech  and 
comradeship.  He  kept  a  small  shop  in  Tonkin 
Road,  in  whose  outer  part  he  sold  newspapers  and 
tobacco.  To  known  applicants  at  the  side-door  he 
sold  other  things:  little  packets  of  powder  to  put 
them  right  after  a  night  at  the  Lantern,  or  little 
packets  of  powder  to  put  them  wrong  after  a  spell 
of  close  attention  to  business.  None  knew  the  inner 
Barney  Flowers.  He  was  inaccessible.  He  sheathed 
himself,  as  it  were,  in  a  block  of  ice,  and  held  him- 
self frigid,  aloof.  As  the  only  man  in  the  district 
who  defied  the  law  by  dealing  in  secret  remedies,  he 
was  able  to  do  this.  All  that  was  known  of  him 

65 


66  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

was  that  he  kept  this  shop,  and  that  his  home  and 
person  were  tended  by  a  child,  Daisy,  assumed  to 
be  his  daughter,  who  also  delivered  the  newspapers 
and  served  customers  with  cigarettes.  The  Blue 
Lantern  saw  him  at  irregular  intervals.  Then  he 
would  come  in  at  opening-time,  retire  by  himself  to 
a  corner,  and  drink  until  he  was  stewed. 

He  was  in  his  usual  corner  to-night,  palpably 
stewed.  He  sat  with  sagging  head  and  damp,  droop- 
ing mouth,  limp  fingers  precariously  supporting  an 
empty  glass.  Comments  passed: 

"Barney  seems  to  'ave  'ad  a  field  day  to-day — 
what?" — uAr,  'aving  'is  reg'lar  monthly,  eh?" — 
"Well,  'e's  certainly  slopped  this  time.  'E's  copped 
the  brewer  to-night,  fair." 

Suddenly,  as  to  the  summons  of  a  bell,  he  seemed 
to  become  conscious  that  his  condition  was  remarked. 
With  shaking  hand  he  deposited  the  glass  on  a  near 
table,  after  trying  twice  to  put  it  where  the  table 
was  not.  Then  he  jerked  back  his  head,  pulled  his 
lean  limbs  together,  shot  himself  from  his  seat,  and 
staggered  through  the  swing  doors.  As  he  disap- 
peared, he  shot  a  malevolent  glance  at  the  mutter- 
ing crowd. 

"Huh!"  said  one.  "Got  'is  monkey  up.  Now 
that  kid  of  'is  will  'ave  to  go  through  it,  I  sup- 
pose." 

He  slithered  from  the  bar  across  the  road,  down 
Gill  Street,  and  so  to  Tonkin  Road.  He  slithered 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  67 

into  his  gas-lit  shop,  mumbling  sticky  words.  His 
head  rolled  from  side  to  side,  peering  and  inquiring. 
Seeing  nobody,  he  called  in  a  wet  voice,  loudly,  for 
"Dai-see!"  None  answered  him;  and  after  some 
seconds  of  stupid  swaying  he  guided  himself  to  a 
stool  behind  the  counter,  and  sat,  fumbling  and  hic- 
cuping.  Some  minutes  passed. 

Then  the  shop  door  opened,  and  a  girl  entered 
with  appearance  of  stealthy  panic.  A  half-smile  lit 
her  face.  She  moved  with  a  flirt  of  frock,  as  one 
walking  off  a  stage  whereon  a  conquest  has  been 
made.  Her  face  was  the  fresh,  mobile  face  of  a 
child,  but  at  the  corners  of  the  mouth  knowledge 
rested.  Her  step  was  peremptory;  her  manner,  for 
a  child,  too  self-sufficient.  She  tossed  back  her 
pouring,  dark  hair,  and  smoothed  the  little  frock  of 
dirty  linen.  Then  she  saw  the  head  of  Barney 
Flowers  above  the  counter;  and  the  smile  was  shot 
away,  and  the  step  crawled,  and  her  blood  thinned. 
She  tumbled  from  challenge  to  submission. 

"Where  you  bin?"  he  snapped.  Her  form 
dwindled,  and  she  retreated  to  the  farther  wall,  like 
a  gambolling  dog  suddenly  called  to  order  by  the 
one  voice  it  fears.  "Leaving  the  shop,  eh?  Slipping 
out  with  them  boys  again,  and  leaving  everything  to 
look  after  itself,  and  get  pinched?  Thought  I  was 
out  o'  the  way,  and  you  could  pop  off?  'Ow  many 
times  'ave  I  told  you  about  leaving  the  shop — eh? 
Wodder  yeh  think  yer  'ere  for — eh  ?"  He  rose  from 


68  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

the  stool  and  steadied  himself  against  the  counter. 
He  pointed  with  a  scraggy  arm.  "Upstairs.  Quick." 
He  swung  round  to  the  door,  and  glowered;  and 
slowly  she  crawled,  an  abject  animal,  from  the  shop 
to  the  narrow  stairway. 

And  suddenly  he  became  sober.  He  bolted  the 
shop  door,  and  turned  down  the  lights.  From  under 
the  counter  he  took  a  clean  cane,  and  passed  it 
through  lean  fingers,  delicately,  as  it  were  a  flower. 
Then  he  too  moved  up  the  stairs ;  and  soon  those  in 
the  Blue  Lantern  heard,  through  the  jazz  music  of 
voice  and  glass  and  beer-engine,  and  the  comment- 
ing chit-chat  of  the  cash  register,  a  sharp  scream, 
followed  by  a  burst  of  sobs.  And  they  "Tch'd"  to 
one  another,  and  remarked  that  Barney  was  at  it 
again,  and  that  somebody  ought  to  interfere  there, 
and  look  after  that  kid.  But  neighbours  are  shy 
of  unneighbourly  interference.  It  involves  all  kinds 
of  undesirable  publicity,  and  the  fierce  light  that 
beats  upon  the  police  court  witness-box  is  much  too 
strong  for  the  sensitive  folk  of  this  district.  They 
shifted  the  responsibility.  "Best  thing  she  can  do's 
to  go  to  the  police,  eh?" 

Upstairs,  in  a  room  empty  of  furniture,  save  for 
a  mattress  on  the  floor,  with  wall-paper  hanging  in 
dank  strips,  Barney  taught  Daisy  not  to  leave  the 
shop  unguarded.  The  cane  in  his  hands  seemed  a 
living  thing,  and  whistled  and  sang,  and  bit  and 
stung  the  young,  bright  body  in  time  with  his  own 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  69 

stream  of  chill  profanity.  The  child,  a  tumult  of 
frock  and  raving  curls,  screamed  and  writhed, 
strangling  herself  with  sobs  and  appeals  and  efforts 
to  break  from  the  grip  that  held  her  down  and  the 
flaming  thing  that  leapt  about  her.  Looming  above 
her,  Barney  whipped  her  with  a  kind  of  dazed 
ferocity,  screaming  his  words  in  time  with  her  cries ; 
and  the  cries  rose  in  pitch  until  the  room  seemed 
filled  in  every  crevice  with  human  wails. 

Then,  abruptly,  the  cries  and  moaning  ceased. 
Barney,  with  cane  held  above  the  disordered  figure, 
paused  on  the  sudden  silence.  He  wrenched  her 
round,  and  looked  close  at  her,  and  then  stepped 
back,  in  dull  wonder.  She  was  smiling.  Upon  her 
face  he  saw  a  curious  secret  smile  that  seemed  to 
hang  rather  under  the  eyes  than  about  the  lips.  He 
had  caught  her  with  this  smile  on  the  last  occasion, 
and  it  had  disturbed  him.  He  could  not  understand 
it.  He  glared  at  her  now,  seeking  by  a  long  look  to 
discover  its  source;  and  a  sudden  intense  hatred, 
touched  with  fear,  of  her  seized  him.  Then  the 
drink  ran  back  to  his  brain,  and  again  the  rod  fell, 
and  again.  But  now  her  lips  were  tight,  and  she 
was  silent,  and  nothing  was  heard  in  that  room 
but  the  hiss  of  the  cane  and  of  his  breathing. 

At  last  he  dropped  her,  and  flung  the  cane  away. 
His  lips  were  moist  and  pale.  A  spot  of  colour 
showed  on  either  cheek.  His  eyes  were  heavy.  As 
he  left  her,  he  looked  back  for  a  moment,  perplexed. 


70  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Then  gave  it  up,  and  lumbered  down  the  stairs.  But 
the  smile  haunted  him  and  hurt  him  and  jeered  him, 
and  he  pondered  upon  some  means  whereby  he  might 
rid  himself  of  it. 

Next  morning  Daisy  went  as  usual  about  the 
house,  and  at  each  encounter  with  Barney  she 
brought  to  her  face  that  smile,  and  noted  the  smile's 
effect  upon  him.  Barney  glowered  upon  her,  and 
tried  to  avoid  her  and  her  smile;  and  at  last  went 
out  to  the  Blue  Lantern  to  lose  it,  and  found  it  at 
the  bottom  of  his  glass,  and  on  the  floor,  and  in  the 
air.  He  drank  heavily,  and  the  boys  took  note  of 
him  as  he  sat  in  his  corner,  beating  time  with  a 
tumbler,  and  slobbering  an  old  hymn-tune. 

At  one  o'clock  Daisy  peeked  through  the  swing- 
door,  as  though  in  search  of  him,  and  smiled  at  the 
company  and  at  him.  To  the  company  her  smile 
was  a  child's  smile  of  salutation,  but  to  Barney  it 
was  much  more.  It  was  to  him  a  deliberate  provoca- 
tion, a  challenge.  Like  a  fool  he  accepted  it.  He 
brandished  his  glass  at  her  and  babbled:  uGrr'out! 
I'll  give  yeh  something  to  smile  at !  I'll  wipe  that 
smile  orf  yer  face !"  and  stayed  in  the  bar  until  half- 
past  two. 

At  that  hour  he  was  put  outside,  very  drunk; 
so  drunk  that  at  the  chop  suey  restaurant,  where  he 
customarily  took  his  afternoon  meal,  he  called 
loudly  for  a  shop  steward. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  71 

An  hour  later,  at  a  time  when  Tonkin  Road  was 
filled  with  people,  a  high,  shrill  scream  cut  cleanly 
through  the  gentle  stir.  Screams  of  a  kind  were  not 
uncommon  here,  but  this  was  no  ordinary  scream. 
It  was  not  the  pitiful  scream  of  a  child  being 
whipped,  or  the  querulous  scream  of  a  wife  against 
a  violent  husband,  but  the  imperative  scream  of 
alarm  that  could  not  be  ignored.  And  following  it 
came  a  young,  thin  voice:  u'Elp!  'Elp!  'E's  kill- 
ing me!" 

A  constable  on  a  near  corner  heard  it,  and,  with 
dignified  haste  moved  to  the  shop  of  Mr.  Flowers. 
Encouraged  by  his  presence,  the  crowd  gathered  and 
flowed  into  the  shop  behind  him  and  overwhelmed 
him,  and  rushed  upstairs.  In  the  bare  room  they 
saw  the  child  prone  on  the  floor.  They  saw  Barney 
Flowers  dithering  over  her  with  infuriated  gesture 
and  grimace.  They  saw  him  turn,  as  the  leader 
of  the  crowd  reached  the  door,  and  rush  upon  it 
to  slam  it  in  their  faces.  But  a  quick  foot  and  the 
pressure  of  many  bodies  countered  the  movement, 
and  the  room  was  quickly  filled.  At  this  moment 
the  child  stirred.  Her  lips  opened,  but  no  sound 
came.  Weakly  she  raised  an  arm  and  pointed.it  at 
Barney.  Then  her  arm  dropped,  and  she  moved 
no  more. 

On  the  floor  at  her  side  lay  a  tea-cup.  The  Man 
Who  Knows  What  To  Do,  who  makes  one  of  every 
crowd,  shouted:  "Get  that  cup!  Don't  let  'im 


72  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

smash  it!"  Somebody  grabbed  the  cup.  The  con- 
stable, using  valiant  elbows,  knocked  the  crowd 
aside.  He  went  first  to  the  child,  made  a  brief 
examination,  then  quietly  collared  the  cup  from  The 
Man  Who  Knew  What  To  Do.  He  looked  into  it. 
He  turned  to  Barney,  who  stood  in  the  fierce  grip  of 
two  of  the  crowd,  speechless,  white-lipped,  damp- 
faced,  glaring.  He  blew  his  whistle  and  hustled  the 
crowd  away. 

Well,  of  course  Barney  was  arrested  and,  later, 
hanged.  At  the  trial  local  witnesses,  eager  now  to 
come  forward  when  the  affair  had  assumed  wide  im- 
portance, showed,  to  the  satisfaction  of  the  twelve 
good  tradesmen  in  the  box,  that  the  child  had  gone 
in  terror  of  Barney;  that  he  had  consistently  ill- 
treated  and  threatened  her;  that  she  was  not  his 
child,  but  had  been  bought  by  him  from  a  tramp 
woman;  that  he  kept  stocks  of  poison  in  which  he 
did  illicit  business ;  that  nobody  was  in  the  house  that 
afternoon  save  himself  and  the  child;  that  the  dregs 
of  the  poison  found  in  the  tea-cup  corresponded  to 
poison  of  which  he  held  a  supply,  and  that  a  new 
packet  of  it  had  been  opened  that  day;  that  the  child 
was  insured  for  twenty  pounds;  and  that  he  was  a 
man  of  vicious  turn  of  mind  to  whom  the  taking  of 
life  weighed  little  against  his  own  dreadful  inclina- 
tions. Then  there  was  the  child's  last  cry  for  help, 
heard  by  ten  witnesses,  and  her  last  gesture  of  ac- 
cusation, to  which  there  were  six  witnesses. 


THE  HEART  OF  A  CHILD  73 

His  demeanour  in  the  dock  greatly  assisted  the 
case  for  the  prosecution.  He  protested  his  innocence 
furiously,  with  fevered  movements,  inarticulately, 
with  torrents  of  words  and  sudden  dams  of  speech- 
lessness.  He  contradicted  himself  clumsily  many 
times.  But  his  whirling  explanations  were  beaten 
down  by  the  evidence. 

So  they  hanged  him.  You  see,  the  general  knowl- 
edge of  the  child  mind  is  so  slender  that  while  men 
will  credit  the  darkest  and  most  tortuous  motives  to 
the  adult  mind,  they  are  ever  sure  that  a  child  could 
never  carry  out,  or  even  .conceive,  the  -simplest 
scheme  of  spite  or  retribution.  Not  one  member  of 
the  coroner's  jury  thought  twice  about  the  smile 
which  Daisy  wore  in  death — a  chill,  clear  smile  of 
triumphant  satisfaction. 


THE  DUMB  WIFE 


V  — 

THE  DUMB  WIFE 

DARK  is  this  tale  of  love  with  woe  as  dark  as 
the  malefic  arches  that  shut  out  light  from 
the  streets  about  the  water-side.  In  these  streets 
it  is  always  chilly  afternoon,  grey-hued  and  empty 
of  happy  noise  and  welcoming  windows.  Here  the 
narrow  kerbs  make  boundaries  for  the  puckered 
lives  of  their  people;  and  feet  fall  without  echo 
upon  their  stones. 

Yet,  though  all  else  perish  here,  beauty  and  love 
and  sacrifice  survive.  In  these  waste  places  below 
London  river  mean  iniquities  propagate  and  flourish, 
and  curl  their  soiling  arms  about  all  that  would  be 
brave  and  beautiful.  Yet  beauty  persists.  Even  in 
the  heart  of  darkness  love  takes  root  and  spreads 
therein  its  eternal  enchantments  of  gardens  and 
moonrise  and  April  airs  and  song. 

In  one  of  these  infelicitous  streets,  some  distance 
from  the  main  Chinese  quarter,  stood  a  small 
Chinese  laundry.  At  an  upper  window  of  this 
laundry  sat,  for  many  years,  a  woman  of  semi- 
Oriental  features.  Day  by  day,  month  by  month, 

77 


78  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

she  sat  there,  the  object  of  that  pity  which  those 
deep  in  misfortune  bestow  so  largely  upon  others 
in  misfortune.  Part  of  her  story  was  known.  She 
was  the  wife  of  the  owner  of  the  laundry,  Ng 
Yong;  and  she  was  dumb. 

Throughout  the  hours  of  light  she  sat  at  her 
window,  her  naturally  placid  face  now  coldly  blank 
by  her  affliction;  staring  at  nothing,  hearing  noth- 
ing; silent  and  still;  a  piece  of  Chinese  carving. 
And  deep  in  her  narrow  eyes  lay  a  crouching  hor- 
ror, so  that  strangers,  passing  that  window,  quick- 
ened their  steps  to  the  friendly  main  road.  What 
passed  each  day  behind  that  rigid  face  may  not 
be  known;  can  only  be  conjectured.  What  hate — 
what  fear — what  resolution  of  vengeance  and 
escape — what  vacillation — what  dark  ideas  and 
darker  memories  gathered  there — these  things  are 
not  to  be  told. 

Upon  recurring  occasions  she  would,  without 
warning,  shed  her  impassivity,  and  a  scene  would 
follow.  She  would  run  to  the  door  and  strive  for 
speech  to  the  point  of  paroxysm,  and  utter 
anomalous  noises,  and  make  wild  gestures  in  the 
direction  of  West  India  Dock.  Then  her  husband 
would  hasten  to  her.  He  would  take  her  in  hand, 
sadly,  and  lead  her,  with  kind  firmness,  back  to 
seclusion;  and  the  neighbours  would  murmur  in 
sympathy  with  him  and  his  forbearance  under  his 
trials. 


THE  DUMB  WIFE  79 

He  had  early  explained  to  them  the  misfor- 
tune that  had  befallen  his  house,  and  they  had 
often  aided  him  in  quieting  the  sufferer.  On  her 
rare  walks  he  went  always  with  her,  the  minister- 
ing husband;  when  she  turned  and  turned  from 
street  to  street,  as  though  in  search  of  one  desired 
spot,  and  stopped  passers-by  with  her  pleading  face 
and  working  jaws,  he  would  make  forlorn  play  with 
his  hands,  and  strangers  would  draw  away,  and 
those  who  knew  would  gather  about  him. 

This  much  was  known.     Here  is  the  full  story. 

When  Moy  Toon  was  born  in  Poplar  of  an 
English  mother  and  a  Chinese  father  there  was  no 
warm  place  for  her  with  her  father's  people,  and 
none  at  all  with  her  mother's.  Her  father's  people, 
however,  finding  her  lying  about  unclaimed,  and 
holding  something  of  grace  within  them,  did  pro- 
vide her  with  bare  necessaries.  Left  motherless  in 
her  early  years,  she  was  received  into  a  tea-house 
in  the  colony  to  do  the  rough  work.  In  this  tea- 
house she  spent  many  tedious  years  whose  days  she 
scarcely  counted.  She  had  little  capacity  for 
thought;  felt  little;  asked  little;  was  as  content  as 
the  slave  born  in  slavery  and  untaught.  Her  birth 
had  given  her  a  larger  share  of  Oriental  compliance 
than  of  Western  scepticism  and  challenge.  Things 
were  what  they  were,  and  she  accepted  them.  She 
grew  up  in  the  promiscuous  company  of  the  docks. 
Of  moral  training  she  had  little,  and  no  learning 


80  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

beyond  that  given  of  custom  to  the  Chinese  woman 
of  the  coolie  class.  So  she  passed  her  young  years  in 
a  kind  of  somnambulism. 

Then  one  night  there  came  to  the  tea-house,  in 
the  fourth  stage  of  inebriety,  a  young  second  mate. 
She  had  seen  him  many  times  about  the  streets; 
and,  in  her  aimless  way,  had  admired  his  happy 
stride  and  clear,  sea-brightened  face.  On  this  occa- 
sion the  wavering  charm  of  the  girl,  unsettled  be- 
tween English  mobility  and  Eastern  gravity,  cap- 
tivated his  beer-bound  senses,  and  he  made  proposals 
to  her.  He  had  but  to  invite,  and  she  went,  her 
warped  spirit  mildly  pleased  at  the  attention  from 
this  man-wonder. 

Well,  that  night  was  the  first  of  many.  He  made 
a  fuss  of  her,  and  called  her  Baby  Doll  and  other 
babbling  names,  and  bought  cheap  gifts  for  her. 
On  his  next  time  ashore  he  again  sought  her  out, 
and  pleased  himself  with  her  simple  company.  Some 
months  later  he  made  a  definite  parting  from  her, 
telling  her  only  that  he  was  about  to  marry  and 
settle  down  in  another  part  of  London;  and  she 
saw  him  no  more.  She  took  her  dismissal  placidly, 
without  rancour,  as  she  took  all  things,  whether 
blows  or  endearments,  and  asked  nothing  of  him. 

Later  came  the  baby.  The  restaurant-keeper 
was  a  little  chagrined  at  this  clumsy  misdemeanour, 
but  he  gave  her  rough  attention,  and  the  child  was 
placed  with  an  old  woman,  known  to  the  Chinese 


THE  DUMB  WIFE  81 

colony,  who  lived  at  Blackwall.  Now  Moy  Toon 
became  quite  silly  about  that  baby.  It  was  her 
living  memory  of  the  one  adventure  of  her  life, 
and  she  worshipped  it.  At  first  she  clung  to  it 
defiantly,  as  a  gesture  of  disdain  against  those  about 
her  who  so  lightly  esteemed  her  wonderful  achieve- 
ment of  motherhood.  But  in  a  more  sober  moment 
she  saw  that  in  their  advice  lay  her  best  course. 
With  the  child,  she  could  not  hope  to  earn  even 
the  scanty  living  that  her  abilities  and  known  story 
permitted  her  to  command  to-day;  and  she  had  no 
taste  for  the  life  which  other  girls  of  her  birth 
and  class  affected.  She  had  had  her  one  adven- 
ture, and  desired,  for  the  child's  sake,  to  walk 
securely.  She  preferred  the  rough  comfort  of  the 
tea-house  to  the  dolorous  enterprise  of  the  streets. 
She  knew  that  the  child  would  receive,  under 
other  protection,  at  least  the  essentials  of  life, 
which  she  herself  could  not  faithfully  promise  him. 
So  she  let  wisdom  beat  down  her  sentiment,  and 
surrendered  the  child,  with  the  condition  that  she 
should  see  it  from  time  to  time  as  she  wished. 

For  six  years,  then,  she  followed  her  arid  course, 
mother  and  no  mother,  accepting,  without  ques- 
tion or  conjecture,  the  untowardness  of  her  circum- 
stance; rather  giving  thanks  that  her  course  was 
broken,  week  by  week,  by  visits  to  the  boy.  Often 
during  these  years  her  pillow  shook  to  the  vibra- 
tions of  her  sobbing  breast,  .as  she  recalled  the 


82  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

young  strength  and  delicate  small  ways  of  him,  and 
reached  vain  arms  through  the  darkness  to  the 
child  she  might  not  openly  claim.  In  the  rough- 
and-tumble  of  the  dock-side  alleys  he  had  grown 
into  a  wiry,  alert  urchin,  big  and  bold  for  his  age; 
and  delicious  afternoons  she  spent  with  him,  dress- 
ing him  in  a  travesty  of  seaman's  uniform — reefer 
jacket  and  gilt  buttons,  with  peaked  cap  and  much 
cheap  braid  about  it — and  calling  him  "Mother's 
Sailor  Boy" ;  afternoons  that  compensated  for  the 
lonely  nights. 

Then  old  Ng  Yong  appeared.  He  had  bought 
the  laundry  business  of  a  compatriot  who  was  re- 
turning to  his  own  country,  and  he  was  doing  very 
well  with  it.  But,  looking  round  the  fittings  of  the 
house,  which  he  had  bought  with  the  business,  he 
felt  that  something  was  lacking,  and  discovered  that 
it  lacked  a  woman.  He  felt  that  a  woman  would 
be  an  agreeable  piece  of  furniture,  and  would  finish 
off  the  establishment.  He  looked  about  for  one, 
and  at  the  tea-house  of  the  Hundred  Gilded 
Dragons  he  found  Moy  Toon.  Moy  Toon  seemed 
to  him  to  be  just  the  article.  He  inquired  of  the 
keeper  of  the  house  concerning  her,  and  found  that 
she  was  available,  and  was  in  the  gift  of  the  keeper. 

Now  Ng  Yong  was  very  strict  on  the  sanctity 
of  womanhood  (from  the  prospective  purchaser's 
point  of  view)  and  put  to  the  keeper  voluminous 
questions  upon  her  life  and  behaviour.  These  the 


THE  DUMB  WIFE  83 

man  behind  the  Gilded  Dragons  answered  freely: 
not  entirely  truthfully,  but  freely,  with  an  engaging 
air  of  candour.  When  Ng  Yong  demanded  assur- 
ances of  the  unblemished  character  of  the  goods, 
these  also  he  freely  gave.  No  gentleman  of  com- 
merce has  yet  been  known  to  cry  down  his  wares; 
and  he  knew  that  the  disclosure  of  a  certain  adven- 
ture would  appreciably  lower  the  price  of  the  article 
to  that  of  shop-soiled. 

Moy  Toon  was  privately  told  of  the  opening  of 
negotiations,  and  was  shown,  by  reports  of  Ng 
Yong's  prosperity,  how  largely  her  situation  should 
be  uplifted  by  an  alliance  with  him,  and  how  neces- 
sary it  was  that  the  existence  of  the  boy  should 
be  kept  secret.  It  was  urged  upon  her  that  she 
should  renounce  for  ever  any  further  part  in  him; 
but  to  that  she  answered  nothing.  To  the  pro- 
posed union  she  offered  no  objection.  Ng  Yong 
was  old,  but  she  was  not  repelled  on  that  ground: 
she  was  sufficiently  Chinese  to  regard  the  difference 
in  ages  as  fitting.  She  saw  here  a  chance  of  helping 
herself,  and,  indirectly,  the  boy,  and  was  prepared 
to  take  it  without  a  second  thought.  She  never 
doubted  her  ability  to  keep  her  own  secret. 

So,  some  nights  later,  she  was  inspected  and 
questioned  by  Ng  Yong,  who  expressed  himself  as 
satisfied  with  her  person  and  with  her  demeanour 
of  modesty.  But  he  did  not  let  the  serious  occasion 
of  wife-taking  pass  without  administering  a  sharp 


84.  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

lecture  on  wifely  deportment.  He  sat  before  her 
in  the  kitchen  of  the  tea-house,  his  fleshy  hands 
splayed  upon  his  knees,  his  old  head  wagging,  the 
secrets  of  his  eyes  shaded  from  the  groping  minds 
of  his  fellows.  Ng  Yong's  wife,  he  told  her,  must  be 
obedient;  must  give  unquestioning  and  unceasing 
service  to  her  lord;  must  give  ready  and  regular 
attention  to  household  duties;  must  sever  all  con- 
nection with  the  people  about  the  tea-house;  and, 
above  all,  must  be  honest  and  faithful.  She  must 
"be  all  his  and  his  alone.  He  quoted  passages  from 
the  Four  Books  concerning  the  Virtuous  Wife,  and 
the  others;  and  his  voice  dropped  to  a  muttered 
monotone  as  he  spoke  of  the  punishment  befitting 
the  wife  who  failed  in  the  first  law. 

To  this  homily  Moy  Toon  listened  perfunctorily, 
and  answered  casually,  with  modest  and  low-toned 
responses.  So  the  business  proceeded,  through  many 
evenings  of  bargaining,  until  at  last  a  middle  price 
was  agreed,  the  money  paid  to  the  Gilded  Dragons, 
and  Moy  Toon  lifted  over  the  threshold  of  Ng 
Yong. 

All  that  he  required  of  her  in  service  and  obedi- 
ence she  gave  him.  But  she  would  not  renounce 
her  boy.  Her  heart  had  not  been  asked  of  her, 
and  that  she  kept;  and  in  it,  guarded  from  all  pro- 
fane contact,  rested  the  boy.  He  was  her  joss,  and 
through  him  and  before  him  she  worshipped.  For 
the  rest,  she  served  Ng  Yong  well.  She  had  no 


THE  DUMB  WIFE  85 

desire  to  do  else.  She  was  scrupulous  in  anticipating 
his  wishes,  studious  in  attending  the  house,  and 
looked  at  no  other  man. 

Of  this  she  had  but  little  chance,  for  her  husband 
was  ever  about  her.  Maybe  her  demeanour  of 
modesty  had  not  wholly  convinced  him.  He  watched 
her  with  vigilant  eyes;  never  was  she  free  from  him; 
and  even  when  she  was  out  on  shopping  business 
she  felt  that  she  was  under  his  regard. 

Her  meetings  with  her  boy  became,  therefore, 
matters  of  delicacy.  To  go  to  the  house  in  Canning 
Town,  each  Thursday,  as  she  had  done  these  six 
years,  would  at  once  arouse  suspicion.  He  would 
note  these  regular,  recurring  disappearances;  he 
would  question  her  and  perhaps  not  be  satisfied  by 
her  answers;  he  would  follow  her  or  have  her  fol- 
lowed, and  discover  her  secret;  and  then  the  pave- 
ment would  receive  her,  and  she  and  the  boy  would 
starve. 

She  considered  carefully  new  arrangements,  and 
decided  that  future  meetings  must  be  haphazard, 
snatched  at  odd  moments,  and  a  different  rendezvous 
must  be  appointed  for  each  meeting.  Discretion 
warned  her  to  follow  the  Dragon's  advice  and 
abandon  wholly  these  meetings.  She  was  safe  now 
and  comfortable,  and  her  daily  life  was  well  set» 
Better  to  take  the  chance  of  seeing  the  boy  at  a 
distance,  without  speech,  or  of  getting  word  of  his 
welfare  from  independent  parties,  than  to  risk  all 


86  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

her  present  security  and  well-being  for  the  idle 
whim  of  fondling  him  and  talking  with  him.  For 
discovery  meant  banishment  from  the  house  of  Ng 
Yong  and  consequent  privation  and  misery.  Be- 
yond that  her  mind  did  not  travel.  Of  the  words 
of  his  homily  on  wifely  decorum  she  remembered 
nothing:  they  had  gone,  as  the  phrase  is,  in  at  one 
ear  and  out  at  the  other.  He  would  be  angry 
and  kick  her  out,  and  she  and  the  boy  would  suffer. 
And  suffering  of  any  kind  she  could  not  face.  She 
hated  it  and  feared  it. 

Yet,  upon  a  night  in  the  first  month  of  marriage, 
as  she  lay  awake,  she  thought  of  the  boy  and 
fancied  his  small  arms  about  her,  and  his  voice 
whispering  childish  prayers  for  pennies  in  her  ear. 
Her  boy.  Next  morning  she  managed  to  pass  the 
word,  through  many  channels,  to  the  woman  who 
had  charge  of  him,  that  she  should  bring  him,  the 
following  afternoon,  to  Tunnel  Gardens.  There 
she  could  sit  with  him  and  the  woman,  and  hear 
him  talk;  and  if  Ng  Yong  or  any  friend  of  his  should 
see  her  thus  engaged,  she  could  reply,  quite  suitably, 
that  the  woman  and  the  boy  were  strangers;  that 
the  child  at  play  had  attracted  her  and  she  had 
spoken  to  him  and  his  mother.  No  harm  in  that. 
So  it  was  done,  without  misadventure. 

For  the  next  meeting,  a  fortnight  later,  she  ap- 
pointed a  sweetstuff  shop  near  Blackwall,  where 
the  boy  was  fed  with  cakes  and  ginger-beer.  She 


THE  DUMB  WIFE  87 

spent  an  hour  with  him  here,  and  when  she  re- 
turned, Ng  Yong,  who  was  customarily  superin- 
tending the  laundry  at  that  hour,  was  awaiting  her 
upstairs.  He  told  her  that  she  had  been  long  gone ; 
and  she  answered  that  she  had  gone  to  the  cheaper 
market  at  Shadwell,  and  had  been  delayed  because 
the  road  was  under  repair.  He  looked  strangely 
and  closely  at  her,  but  she  caught  nothing  of  the 
look.  Her  eyes  were  full  of  her  boy — how  bonny 
he  was  looking  and  how  pert  of  manner. 

The  next  meeting  she  fixed,  after  some  thought, 
for  a  morning  in  a  disused  cellar  in  a  remote  corner 
near  West  India  Dock.  She  had  discovered  this  cel- 
lar some  years  ago,  and  it  was  to-day  much  as  it 
was  then.  She  and  her  sailor  had  spent  some  hours 
there  one  wet  evening  of  summer,  when  he  had 
been  unable  to  find  other  temporary  accommoda- 
tion. It  was  easily  entered,  and,  as  it  held  nothing 
that  could  be  stolen,  was  never  under  observation. 
It  had  lain  abandoned  since  the  river  first  entered 
it  and  swamped  its  contents.  Repairs  had  been  at- 
tempted, but  the  river  persisted;  and  at  every  high 
tide  it  was  waist-deep  in  water.  It  was  entered  from 
a  narrow  passage  by  a  flight  of  broken  steps  so 
hidden  that  none  could  without  guidance  discover 
them. 

Hither,  then,  the  boy  was  brought.  The  cellar, 
lit  by  Moy  Toon's  electric  torch,  did  not  daunt  him. 
He  was  a  lad  of  his  father's  spirit,  she  told  herself, 


88  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

for  he  was  delighted  with  the  adventure,  and 
trotted  about  the  place,  prying  here  and  there,  and 
nourishing  his  mother's  heart  with  smiles.  She 
stood  by  him,  blooming  with  pride  and  encouraging 
his  tricks,  careless  of  all  save  the  small  circle  in 
which  he  moved.  But  in  the  midst  of  his  gambolling 
the  woman  who  had  brought  him  lifted  a  nervous 
finger. 

"Listen!     Quiet !" 

He  stopped  suddenly,  and  Moy  Toon  gathered 
him  against  her  skirt.  They  listened. 

uOo — er!"  croaked  the  woman.  "Someone 
comin'.  I  was  afraid  we'd  get  into  trouble  comin' 
'ere.  What'll  we  do?  Where  shall  we  go?  Oo — 
er.  I'm  gointer  get  outer  this.  It's  your  affair.  I 
ain't  in  it.  I  ain't  gointer  be  mixed  up  in  no " 

With  a  whirl  of  worried  skirts  and  cumbrous 
boots,  she  pounded  up  the  steps.  Moy  Toon,  below, 
heard  a  sound  as  of  a  dull  impact,  and  a  shrill  "Oo — 
er!"  followed  by  "Look  out,  gel!" 

It  was  a  moment  of  panic.  The  woman  had  seen 
something  to  affiright  her,  and  Moy  Toon's  first  in- 
stinct was  the  boy.  At  that  moment  she  was  with- 
out power  of  thought.  She  saw  three  feet  from 
her  an  alcove  in  which  the  boy  had  been  exploring. 
It  was  guarded  by  a  heavy  door  with  a  great  iron 
hasp  and  lock.  She  grabbed  the  boy  by  the  arm, 
and  put  her  mouth  to  his  ear. 


THE  DUMB  WIFE  89 

"In  there,  darling.  Quick — in  there.  Don't  make 
a  sound.  It's  for  mummy." 

The  boy  understood  and  hopped  into  the  alcove. 
She  swept  the  door  upon  him  and  snapped  it  close. 
She  turned  from  it  to  reach  the  torch  and  extinguish 
it;  and  turned  to  see  Ng  Yong  descending  the  last 
step  to  the  cellar,  with  hand  outstretched  in  com- 
mand which  she  instinctively  obeyed.  He  reached 
the  bottom,  and  stood  motionless,  looking  about 
him,  right  and  left.  The  sudden  shock  of  his  arrival, 
and  the  closing  of  the  door,  had  left  her  breathless, 
incapable  of  act  or  word.  She  leaned  against  the 
wall,  panting,  her  slow  mind  rolling  round  one  idea : 
"What  did  he  see?  What  did  he  see?"  Through 
his  silence  she  prayed  for  him  to  speak. 

At  last  he  spoke,  quietly:  "So  this  is  where  you 
meet  your  lover?  Let  us  see  him." 

"Lover?  Me?  No,  I  don't.  Oh  no — no — I 
don't.  What  d'you  mean?" 

She  knew  that  she  was  speaking  stupidly,  uncon- 
vincingly,  but  delight  at  his  mistake  about  a  lover 
made  her  careless.  Inside  herself  she  laughed.  If 
she  had  to  suffer  his  wrath,  she  would  suffer;  but 
at  least  the  boy  was  safe,  while  the  lover  idea 
remained. 

"Where  is  your  lover?" 

"Lover?    I  ain't  got  no  lover." 

"What  then  would  you  be  doing  here?" 


90  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"But — I  mean — there  ain't  no  lover.  I  come  'ere 
,  )> 

"So  you  come  to  this  place — this  place — to  gossip 
with  old  women,  huh?  Bring  out  your  lover." 

"But  I  ain't "  She  saw  suddenly  that  her 

best  plan,  for  the  boy's  sake,  was  to  hold  the  idea 
of  a  lover,  to  develop  it. 

"Well,  I  mean,  suppose  I " 

He  raised  a  hand.     "Look  at  mel" 

The  instinct  of  obedience  raised  her  eyes,  and 
she  looked  full  at  him,  and  what  she  saw  in  his  face 
turned  her  sick.  She  gibbered. 

"But  I  ain't— I  ain't " 

"You — you  to  whom  I  gave  my  trust.  Oh,  child 
of  a  dog!" 

"But  I  mean— I " 

A  snarl  broke  from  his  lips.  His  hand  dipped 
to  his  inner  pocket.  She  watched  it  with  foolish 
eyes,  fumbling  under  his  canvas  coat.  She  saw 
it  come  out,  holding  a  long  curved  knife,  the  blade 
dulled  by  long  disuse.  He  held  it  by  the  ivory  hilt, 
directed  the  point  upon  her,  horizontally,  and  slowly, 
quietly  approached  her.  Like  dropping  water,  the 
words  of  his  homily  on  the  Virtuous  Wife  dropped 
through  her  mind. 

"You  have  chosen  your  place  well.  We  are  safe 
here.  I  told  you  how  I  would  punish  unfaithful- 


ness." 


With  each  step  forward  he  took,  she  took  one 


THE  DUMB  WIFE  91 

backward,  shrinking  from  him.  He  followed  her. 
She  drew  back,  shuddering,  arms  extended,  pressing 
herself  against  the  wall  as  if  she  would  force  her- 
self into  it.  He  followed  her.  Pat-pat,  pat-pat, 
they  moved  softly  along  the  damp  floor.  She  con- 
tinued to  step  slow  paces  backward,  eyes  fixed  on 
him.  He  followed  her.  He  followed  her  until  she 
had  reached  the  far  wall,  where  an  iron  grating 
gave  out  to  the  river.  There  she  stood,  mouthing 
at  him,  cornered;  fascinated,  rabbit-like,  by  the  dull 
tongue  of  steel  that  slowly  floated  towards  her 
breast.  Nearer  and  nearer  it  came.  She  felt  the 
touch  of  it  upon  her  corsage;  then  the  prick  of  it 
upon  her  skin;  and  at  this  she  opened  wide  her 
throat  to  scream:  "Mercy!  Mercy!  I  ain't  got 
no  lover!" 

But,  though  she  opened  her  throat,  none  of 
these  words  came.  Her  mouth  opened  and  shut, 
and  her  teeth  came  together  and  flew  apart;  but 
no  sound  could  she  utter.  The  knife  rose  and 
fluttered  half-an-inch  from  her  throat.  Then  Ng 
Yong  dropped  it  to  his  waist,  and  drew  back.  He 
looked  long  at  her  before  he  spoke  again. 

"Where  is  this  lover  ?" 

Her  lips  moved,  and  she  made  meaningless  noises, 
and  shook  her  head  and  prayed  with  her  hands. 
Ng  Yong  replaced  the  knife  in  his  coat,  and  nodded 
gravely.  The  shock  of  discovery  and  the  threatened 
punishment  had  taken  punishment  from  his  hands. 


92  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

His  wife  was  punished  by  an  instrument  keener  than 
any  blade  of  steel.  She  was  struck  dumb. 

He  took  her  by  the  arm.  She  shuddered  at  the 
touch,  and  he  smiled  upon  her.  He  drew  her  to 
the  steps  leading  to  the  alley.  As  he  led  her  away, 
she  struggled,  and  pointed  to  the  great  door  of 
the  alcove,  and  made  low  noises:  "Myw!  Myw!" 

Ng  Yong,  too,  looked  at  the  door,  and  gave  a 
smile  of  understanding.  With  easy  force  he  com- 
pelled her  up  the  steps.  She  beat  against  his  bent 
arm,  and  strove  with  hands  and  lips,  as  one  ex- 
plaining. But  he  led  her  away,  quietly,  down  that 
narrow  passage,  so  that  none  noted  their  going 
until  they  reached  the  main  road.  And  he  led 
her  home,  and  told  sympathetic  inquirers  how  his 
wife  had  suffered  a  sad  shock  from  a  street  acci- 
dent, which  had  deprived  her  of  speech  and  made 
her  foolish  of  mind. 


BLUEBELL 


—  VI  — 
BLUEBELL 

SLIPPERY  SAM,  the  copper's  nark,  stood  in 
the  bar  of  the  Blue  Lantern  and  drank  bitter, 
while  he  complained  to  his  only  friend,  Hank  Hogan, 
the  odd  messenger,  of  the  present  discontents.  At 
the  other  end  of  the  bar  a  group  of  the  Roseleaf 
Boys,  who  "worked"  the  West  End  shopping 
crowds,  delivered  to  the  world  generally,  in  high 
voices,  their  opinions  of  Slippery  Sam. 

"Thinks  'isself  smart,  y'know.  I  reckon  we  got 
a  beat  on  'im  lars'  week."  "Smart !  Huh !  Nosing 
round  Chinatown  for  dope  shops  is  about  all  Vs  fit 
for."  "Planted  the  bunce  right  under  'is  dirty  nose, 
I  did."  "Why,  take  a  dekko  at  'im.  'E  looks  like 
'is  job.  Any  side-door  cadger'd  know  it  first  time. 
Goes  about  with  a  black  mask  on  and  a  brass  band 
in  front  of  'im,  playing  Tm  the  copper's  nark.'  ' 
"Yerce,  if  a  faro  crib  opened  next  door  to  'im  and 
'ung  out  signs,  'e  wouldn't  know  it  for  a  week  or 
two." 

Here  the  voices  dropped.    Slippery  Sam  had  not 
heard  what  was  spoken  loudly,  but  he  heard  what 

95 


96  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

was  murmured;  his  ears  were  adjusted  that  way. 
"Yerce,  old  'Awkins  'as  started  a  shop  in  Cable 
Street.  Bin  running  these  four  weeks.  'E  dunno 
it,  though.  'E'll  'ear  about  it  like  'e  'ears  every- 
thing else — when  'e  reads  it  in  the  papers." 

Slippery  Sam  drank  up,  excused  himself  to  his 
friend  and  went  out. 

The  boys  were  right.  He  hadn't  heard  about  it. 
But  the  name  caught  his  ear,  and  he  thought  of 
a  gentle  walk  to  Cable  Street.  On  another  point 
the  boys  were  wrong.  He  was  good  for  something 
besides  nosing  for  dope  shops  in  Chinatown.  He 
was  good  for  nosing  round  women.  He  nosed 
round  them  like  a  dog.  He  sniffed.  He  fawned. 
He  snapped.  He  snarled.  He  patted  and  mauled 
and  showed  his  teeth.  He  was  nosing  round  one 
now.  Bluebell  Hawkins,  But  in  her  case  he 
•  could  not  snarl  or  show  his  teeth.  There  was  noth- 
ing to  bite  on.  Or  there  had  been  nothing  to 
bite  on.  But  the  information  given  to  him  by 
the  sour  temper  of  the  Roseleaf  Boys  indicated 
something  substantial.  Old  Hawkins  had  started 
a  Shop.  In  Shadwell  a  Shop  means  one  thing.  It 
does  not  mean  a  gambling  den  or  a  dancing  den 
or  a  coining  den  or  a  shebeen;  it  means  a  Shop. 

As  he  passed  up  Gravel  Lane  there  was  a  sudden 
outcry  of  young  voices : 

"Come  on,  boys!  'Ere's  Sing-a-song  Joe! 
Chase  'im,  boys!  Muck  ''im  about!" 


BLUEBELL  9T 

Slippery  Sam  stopped  to  watch  and  chuckle. 
Against  a  wall  crouched  a  lanky,  thin-faced,  wispy- 
haired  youth,  in  tatterdemalion  clothes.  In  his  lean 
fingers  he  held  a  tin  whistle.  With  this  and  with 
lifted  leg  he  made  aimless,  slow  gestures  of  defense, 
while  his  face  wore  the  silly  smile  of  the  victim  who 
tries  to  enter  into  the  joke  of  his  persecution.  His 
mouth  made  childish  noises  of  protest.  Slippery 
Sam  stood  by  and  grinned.  This  was  Sing-a-song 
Joe,  the  half-witted  character  of  the  district;  some- 
times drunk,  sometimes  running  amok;  but  always 
the  butt  of  the  street  boys,  and  always  stupidly 
cheerful.  When  things  were  dull  and  amusement 
wanting,  there  was  always  Sing-a-song  Joe  to  be 
dug  out  and  baited.  Whence  he  came  none  knew. 
He  had  appeared  among  them  as  a  lad  in  knicker- 
bockers. The  Union  would  not  have  him;  the 
Asylum  would  not  have  him;  the  police  were  bored 
with  him.  He  was  helpless  and  harmless.  His 
bed  was  any  archway  sheltered  from  the  breeze. 
His  food  he  cadged  by  promises — or,  as  some  said, 
threats — to  sing  a  song  in  return  for  broken  scraps 
or  cigarettes  or  beer.  From  those  who  knew  him 
he  mostly  got  the  gift,  and  was  hastily  released  from 
his  promise  of  entertainment.  It  was  only  when 
he  approached  a  stranger  that  the  price  would  be 
accepted  and  the  neighbourhood  disturbed  by  fright- 
ful discords  on  his  whistle,  or  additional  horror 


98  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

lent  by  his  cracked  voice  to  obscene  soldier  and 
sailor  songs. 

Slippery  Sam  stood  and  watched  and  urged  on 
the  boys.  Then  suddenly,  through  the  crowd,  broke 
the  slim,  bright  figure  of  a  young  girl.  She  cuffed 
right  and  left  with  her  hands,  and  came  to  the 
side  of  Sing-a-song,  striking  with  words. 

"Let  'im  alone,  yeh  little  beasts.  You  leave  'im 
be.  Never  mind,  Sing-a-song,  I'll  see  to  'em.  Here, 
mike  off  quick.  Little  blackguards,  can't  yeh  leave 
the  boy  alone?" 

With  profane  comment  and  derisive  gestures  the 
boys  strolled  away  to  the  next  amusement,  and  she 
put  an  arm  about  the  victim. 

uThey  bin  hustling  you,  Sing-a-song  ?"  she  asked 
gently. 

He  giggled.  "No,  no.  I  don't  mind.  They 
alwis  do  it.  They  like  a  bit  o'  fun.  They  think  I'm 
cracked.  But  you  know,  don't  yeh?  You  know 
I'm  all  right?  I  'like  you,  Bluebell.  You're  kind 
to  me." 

She  smiled  upon  him.  "You  ought  to  stick  up 
for  yourself,  boy,  you're  big  enough  now.  Hit  'em. 
Knock  'em  about.  I  know  there's  a  crowd  of  'em, 
but  you  hit  one,  hard,  and  it'll  frighten  the  others. 
See?" 

"Oh,  no,  Bluebell,  that  ain't  right.  They  don' 
mean  nothing.  Wouldn't  be  right  to  'urt  'em." 

Slippery  Sam  strolled  up.    "  'Ullo,  missie." 


BLUEBELL  99 

Bluebell  Hawkins  looked  round  and  shuddered 
sharply.  She  moved  closer  to  the  half-witted  Sing- 
a-song. 

"Hullo." 

Sing-a-song  observed  that  she  was  engaged.  "I'll 
go,  Bluebell,"  he  piped,  humbly  withdrawing. 

Bluebell  stretched  a  hand.  uNo,  don't."  But, 
putting  his  whistle  to  his  lips,  and  blowing  a  piercing 
blast,  he  capered  round  the  corner  and  away. 

"Seem  fond  o'  Sing-a-song,"  remarked  Slippery 
conversationally. 

"Oh?" 

"Yerce.  Never  take  no  notice  of  yer  friends 
when  they  pass  in  the  streets,  but  always  looking 
after  'im." 

Bluebell  thought  of  a  rude  retort,  but  did  not 
make  it.  She  was  not  sure  of 'Slippery.  She  loathed 
him.  The  fact  of  his  being  in  her  neighbourhood 
affected  her  as  the  presence  of  a  cat  affects  some 
people.  And,  somehow,  though  she  felt  no  fear, 
she  had  a  notion  that  he  was  to  be  feared. 

"What  if  I  do?"  she  said.  "He  wants  some- 
one to  look  after  him,  when  everybody's  tormenting 
him.  Why  should  they?  He's  only  a  bit  soft. 
There's  nothing  nasty  or  wicked  about  him.  That 
boy'd  do  anything  in  the  world  for  me." 

"Well,  perhaps  'e  would.  Perhaps  other  people 
would,  too.  What  could  *e  do  for  yeh,  though? 
'E's  no  good  to  anyone.  Can't  even  look  after 


100  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

1isself.  There's  other  people  that  might  be  yer 
friends — real  friends — and  do  things  for  yeh,  if 
yeh'd  let  'em.  Nobody  never  knows  when  they 
might  want  a  friend — a  real  friend." 

He  looked  at  her  and  his  eyes  raked  her  face 
and  then — or  so  she  felt — raked  off  her  clothes 
and  grinned  upon  her  young  body.  She  shuddered 
again  and  moved  beyond  him.  His  sloppy  clothes, 
his  sloppy  limbs,  his  sloppy  movements  nauseated 
her.  There  was  an  odour  of  slops  all  about  him. 
'"Well,  I  must  be  going." 

"Right-o.  But  don't  forget  what  I  said.  A 
friend's  a  friend.  And  yeh  never  know." 

She  walked  swiftly  from  him,  in  some  trouble 
at  his  words.  She  walked  lightly,  and  her  feet 
barely  disturbed  the  dust  of  the  pavement.  In 
Juniper  Street,  where  was  her  home,  she  was  known 
as  That  Refined  Girl.  It  was  agreed  that  she  was 
Quite  The  Lady.  There  was  gentleness  in  every 
line  of  her.  Even  the  massed  yellow  of  her  hair 
Deemed  gentle  against  the  brutal  bricks  and  girders 
and  the  insistent  dun  of  Shadwell;  and  the  startling 
combination  of  light  curls  with  deep  brown  eyes 
lent  her  an  air  of  waywardness  that  caused  remark 
in  a  place  where  all  things  were  blunt  and  deter- 
mined. Her  merry  hat,  her  bright  mouth,  her 
swinging  arms  gave  a  moment's  courage  to  the 
cringing  street  as  she  passed;  but  her  heart  was 
troubled. 


BLUEBELL          '.,.  101 

Mr.  Hawkins,  her  father,  had  long  done  well 
in  the  second-hand  wardrobe  business;  but  lately 
he  had  disposed  of  his  stock  and  goodwill,  and 
was  now  much  at  home.  He  had  told  Bluebell, 
in  a  casual  way,  that  he  had  started  another  busi- 
ness, in  a  new  line,  but  what  that  business  was 
she  was  not  told.  Certainly,  it  seemed  more  profit- 
able t~an  second-hand  clothes,  for  there  was  more 
money  about  the  house.  He  did  himself  well,  and 
gave  Bluebell  presents  of  new  hats  and  frocks,  and 
added  many  necessary  comforts  to  their  home.  But 
Bluebell  had  wondered  about  this  business,  and  his 
evasion  of  her  questions.  Lately,  nasty  words  had 
crept  about  the  district,  and  had  been  borne,  by 
the  sluggish  wind  of  gossips'  breath,  to  her  ears. 
She  began  to  scrutinise  her  father  at  the  supper- 
table,  while  he  was  engaged  with  the  evening  paper; 
and,  at  last,  putting  words  together,  she  framed 
something  like  the  truth.  She  confirmed  it  by  ques- 
tions to  Sing-a-song  Joe,  who  heard  everything;  and 
he  told  her,  innocently,  not  knowing  whether  the 
business  was  good  or  bad,  its  nature. 

She  had  not  known  it  long  before  her  father  dis- 
covered that  she  knew.  Without  a  word  from 
either,  mutual  knowledge  was  discovered;  and  there- 
after the  bright  tones  of  the  Hawkins'  home  was 
subdued.  Though  never  proclaimed,  the  knowledge 
pervaded  the  house  like  a  fog.  This  nasty  grey 
Fact  loomed  over  them,  and  sat  between  them  at 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

the  fireside,  and  hovered  above  the  table  as  they 
sat  at  meals,  and  sucked  the  warmth  from  their 
words  and  their  advances,  and  lent  a  chill  to  any 
attempt  at  candid  intercourse.  And  there  were 
dreadful  occasions  when  Hawkins  would  say,  in 
the  tones  of  a  clumsy  actor  who  has  memorised  a 
part  till  it  becomes  meaningless:  "Well,  girl,  I 
shall  be  rather  late  to-night.  Special  business  to  see 
to,  y'know.  Don't  wait  up  for  me."  And  Blue- 
bell would  reply  in  the  same  tones:  "All  right, 
dad;  I'll  leave  something  cold  on  the  table  for  you." 

She  did  not  dare  to  name  to  him  her  knowledge 
and  her  horror.  Though  a  strong,  undemonstrative 
love  united  them,  his  dark  temper  «had  always  for- 
bidden any  attempt  on  her  part  to  challenge  any 
attitude  or  action  on  his.  Don't  think  that  she 
suffered  any  pangs  of  conscience  at  enjoying  the 
new  good  things  provided  by  this  more  prosperous 
business.  She  didn't.  Nor,  perhaps,  was  she  at 
all  concerned  with  the  "wrong"  side  of  it.  It  was 
to  her  only  a  thoroughly  nasty  business.  What 
horrified  and  disgusted  her,  savagely  insistent  as 
she  was  on  chastity,  and  loathing  the  fact  of  sex, 
was  the  dirtiness,  the  animalism,  the  disgrace  of  it. 

He  was  not  often  out  late.  He  was  out  at  odd 
times  morning  and  evening,  but  usually  returned 
at  ten  o'clock.  The  place  of  business  in  Cable 
Street  Bluebell  had  discovered.  There  he  went  each 
morning  to  collect  the  money  paid  by  the  night's 


BLUEBELL  103 

visitors,  and  to  see  that  order  was  maintained  among 
the  terrible  company  who  called  themselves  face- 
tiously his  "staff."  He  was  always  quietly  dressed; 
sleek;  reticent  in  style  and  speech.  A  black  beard 
lent  him  circumspection,  and  his  manner  was  like 
a  dark  alley  of  shuttered  houses.  He  was  always, 
to  his  neighbours,  "Mr."  Hawkins. 

As  Bluebell  prepared  the  table  for  supper  to- 
night the  words  of  Slippery  Sam  still  clattered  in 
her  head;  and  when  at  his  proper  hour  her  father 
came  in,  she  quizzed  him.  He  sat  at  the  table  with 
the  evening  paper,  not,  as  usual,  tranquil  and  self- 
contained.  He  fidgeted.  Bluebell  observed.  After 
eating,  he  spoke. 

"You  know  Sam  Booth?" 

"What— him  they  call  Slippery  Sam?" 

"  'M." 

"Yes,  everybody  does."  The  tone  of  voice  clearly 
conveyed  "and  loathes  him." 

"Oh,  well — not  a  bad  chap.  I  rather  like  him. 
You  don't  seem  to?" 

"Well,  can  you  ask?  Like  him?  How  can  one 
like. a  rat  or  a  snake  or  anything  slimy?" 

"Oh,  he's  not  as  bad  as  all  that.  You  mustn't 
believe  all  people  say  about  him.  He's  not  really 
such  a  bad  chap.  However,  I»only  asked.  But  j-ou 
might  be  a  bit  nice  to  him.  I  saw  him  this  evening, 
and  he  seemed  to  think  you  wanted  to  be  rude  to 


104  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

him.     Be  a  bit  nice,  like.     Because — y'see — I  mean 
— he  might  be  able  to  do  me  a  good  turn." 

Bluebell  knew  what  her  father  was  trying  to  say, 
and  he  knew  that  she  knew;  and  her  breasts  seemed 
suddenly  two  blocks  of  ice.  But  she  only  answered: 
"Oh,  well,  you'd  have  to  be  pretty  hard  up  to  take 
favours  from  a  worm  like  that."  And  she  served 
him  with  beer,  and  they  spoke  no  more  until  "Good- 
night." 

Next  morning  when  she  went  shopping  Slippery 
Sam  stepped  from  an  alley  into  her  path,  and  simu- 
lated surprise.  " 'Ulloj  Bluebell.  Out  early,  eh? 
My  word,  what  a  nobby  frock !  That  cost  a  bit,  I 
lay.  But  it  ain't  too  good  for  you,  whatever  it 
cost.  Your  dad's  doing  well  just  now,  eh?" 

She  moved  to  pass  him.  "I  believe  so.  ... 
Well,  I  got  a  lot  of  things  to  get  this  morning." 

( 'Arf  a  mo'.  I  got  something  serious  to  say 
to  you.  I  mean  it,  reely.  Something  that  concerns 
you.  Supposing  your  dad  was  in  trouble,  and  you 
could  'elp  'im.  Would  yeh?" 

"Don't  be  silly.  You  know  me  an*  dad  would 
do  anything  for  one  another." 

She  looked  steadily  at  him  and  he  at  her.  He 
wondered  if  she  knew;  but  her  face  was  the  face 
of  a  pretty  girl  busy  with  domestic  matters. 

"Well,  I  won't  keep  yeh  now.  I'll  tell  yeh  later. 
I  don't  want  to  worry  your  little  'ead.  I  dessay  yer 


BLUEBELL  105 

father's  told  yeh  already  that  he  might  be  in  trouble 


some  time." 


Bluebell  walked  on  shuddering;  partly  from  con- 
tact with  Slippery,  and  partly  from  his  words.  She 
brooded  and  fretted  all  day,  and  that  night  her 
father  spoke  his  awful  lines:  "Well,  girl,  I  shall 
be  rather  late  to-night.  Special  business  to  see  to, 
y'know.  Don't  wait  up  for  me."  To  which  she 
made  the  customary  reply. 

Half-an-hour  after  he  was  gone  came  a  knock  at 
the  street  door.  She  opened  it  and  found  Slippery 
Sam. 

"Want  to  come  in,"  he  said  hoarsely.  "Want 
to  talk  to  yeh,  private-like." 

Her  arm  ached  to  slam  the  door  upon  his  nose, 
but  something  restrained  her.  She  let  him  enter. 
He  slouched  into  the  kitchen  and  stood  awkwardly 
by  the  table. 

"It's  true  what  I  told  yeh  'smorning,"  he  began. 
"I  found  out  about  it.  There'll  be  trouble  fer  you 
and  your  dad  before  long.  But  it  could  be  stopped. 
I  could  get  it  stopped,  I  think." 

She  looked  at  him  with  orderly  eyes.  "Well, 
suppose  it  is  true?  What  about  it?  Why  come 
and  tell  me?" 

"Well,  yeh  said  'smorning  yeh'd  do  anything  to 
'elp  your  dad  if  'e  was  in  trouble.  Well,  now  yeh 
got  a  chance,  so  I  thought  I'd  tdl  yeh." 


106  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"I  see.  You  want  to  be  squared,  I  suppose.  How 
much  do  you  want?" 

"Ah,  I  see  you've  rumbled  it.  But — er — well,  it 
ain't  a  matter  o'  money.  I  can  get  money  easy. 
There's  some  things  better'n  money.  I  thought  I'd 
come  to-night,  seeing  yer  dad  go  out;  'cos  if  'e  'card 
you  was  ready  to  save  'im  this  way,  very  likely  'e 
wouldn't  let  yeh.  Might  be  ready  to  stand  the  racket 
'isself,  rather'n  you  should  be — er — bothered.  But 
I  reckon  you  wouldn't  like  to  let  'im  in  fer — well — 
bad  trouble,  when  you  could  easy  prevent  it." 

She  rested  a  hand  on  the  kitchen  table  and  leant 
across  it. 

"What  is  it  you  want,  you — beast?" 

Then  he  smiled  and  his  awkwardnessi  dropped 
from  him.  This  was  a  language  he  understood.  He 
asserted  himself. 

"Why,  if  yeh  look  in  the  glass,  ducky,  yeh  don't 
need  to  ask  a  man  that.  You  know  what  I  want." 

She  took  a  deep  breath,  as  though  to  blow  him 
from  the  room.  Then  she  recovered  and  spoke 
quietly.  "No,  you  slimy  reptile.  No.  Get  out — 
quick!" 

He  did  not  move.  "Nice  words  from  you — slimy 
reptile — from  you.  And  who  are  you?  Where  did 
that  pretty  frock  come  from?  Where  did  those 
shoes  come  from?  Eh?  Who's  worse — you,  that 
swank  about  in  new  'ats  and  frocks  and  look  the 
lady,  or  the  poor  gels  what  make  the  money  that 


BLUEBELL  107 

buys  'em?    Eh?    D'yeh  know  what  your  father  is? 
'E's  a " 

She  clapped  hands  to  ears.    "Don't  say  it.  Beast. 
Don't  say  it.     Oh!" 

"Ar!  I  see  yeh  know.  And  still  try  to  be  the 
lady.  Well,  it  won't  last  long,  y'know.  Not  only 
your  being  a  lady  won't  last.  There's  worse.  Your 
dad'll  be  taken  to  the  court.  'E'll  be  committed 
for  trial.  It'll  all  be  printed  in  the  papers.  Twelve 
munce  is  a  light  sentence  for  that.  An'  'e'll  be  put 
in  convick  dress,  and.be  'eating  'is  'eart  out  in  a  cell, 
and  working  at  miserable  work — and  not  a  soul 
to  talk  to  all  the  time.  'E'll  be  thinking  of  you — 
every  minute  of  the  day  and  'arf  the  night.  And 
where'll  you  be?  Eh?  When  it's  all  exposed — 
where'll  you  be?  'Ere?  No.  You'll  be  chased  out 
of  the  place.  You  won't  'ave  nowhere  to  go.  You 
won't — you  won't  'ave  a  place  to  lay  yer  'ead.  No- 
body'll  look  at  yeh,  when  they  know.  Yeh'll  be 
where  the  girls  are  what  bring  the  money  fer  yer 
pretty  frocks  and  'ats.  That's  where  you'll  be, 
unless 'Arf-a-dozen  words  from  me  and — flip- 
flop!" 

She  dropped  into  a  chair  and  hid  her  face. 
"Don't,  don't!  You  beast!  Oh,  go  away." 

He  approached  her.  "Now  don't  be  silly,  gel. 
I'll  give  y'a  chance.  Gimme  a  kiss  now,  and  I  won't 
do  nothing  for  a  day  or  two.  I'll  let  yeh  think  it 
over.  Come  on." 


108  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

He  shook  her  shoulder.  She  writhed  at  the  touch, 
but  she  thought  of  father  in  prison,  and  slowly  she 
rose,  her  lips  parted  in  misery  and  disgust.  Her 
skin  tingled.  He  stood  motionless  at  her  side. 

"Come  on,  gel." 

Slowly  she  put  her  face  to  his,  and  gave' him  her 
bright  mouth.  He  grabbed  her  neck  and  pressed 
his  tight  lips  hard  against  hers,  and  she  sobbed  and 
her  throat  made  noises  of  revolt.  "There !  That's 
that!  I'll  go  now,  and  you  be  sensible  and  think 


it  over." 


She  sank  to  the  table  again,  and  when  she  looked 
up  he  was  gone. 

Long  she  sat  thus,  staring  before  her,  while  grim, 
grey  thoughts  moved  nakedly  across  her  mind. 
Then,  chilled  with  solitude,  she  got  up,  took  hat  and 
coat,  and  went  out.  She  did  not  know  and  did  not 
care  where  she  would  walk — she  wanted  to  be  out. 
Suddenly,  as  she  passed  a  lampless  alley,  the  quiet 
of  the  street  was  rent  by  a  screaming  note  from 
a  tin  whistle,  and  she  knew  that  Sing-a-song  Joe  was 
about.  She  followed  the  direction  of  the  sound, 
for  she  felt  that  Sing-a-song  was  the  one  person 
she  could  meet  to-night.  With  Sing-a-song  she  could 
and  did  talk  freely.  She  could  tell  him  things  she 
dare  not  tell  to  others — little  fancies,  whims,  de- 
sires, that  would  have  aroused  bitter  ridicule  in 
others.  He  was  a  child.  She  could  unpack  her 


BLUEBELL  109 

mind  to  him  in  speech.without  fear  of  compromising 
herself  by  revelation. 

She  found  him  strutting  gaily  over  the  cobbles, 
whistle  at  mouth.  He  stopped  at  sight  of  her,  and, 
though  the  inane  smile  remained  on  his  face,  his 
voice  conveyed  concern. 

u  'Ullo,  Bluebell.  Don't  yeh  feel  well,  Bluebell? 
You  got  a  pain  anywhere,  Bluebell?" 

"Oh,  Sing-a-song,  I'm  so  unhappy.  I'm  in  trouble, 
Sing-a-song." 

"What?  Ain't  you  had  your  dinner,  Bluebell! 
Or  you  lost  your  purse — or  what?" 

"No,  it  isn't  anything  like  that,  Sing-a-song. 
Here,  come  down  here." 

"That's  right,  Bluebell.  You  tell  Sing-a-song  all 
about  it.  You  alwis  look  after  Sing-a-song,  so  'e'll 
look  after  you." 

Up  and  down  the  side  street  they  walked  for 
half-an-hour,  while  Bluebell  told  him,  in  plain,  set 
terms  that  he  could  understand,  the  nature  of  her 
trouble.  She  did  not  tell  him  with  any  idea  of  find- 
ing advice  or  assistance,  but  because  she  must  dis- 
charge her  mind  of  its  burden  of  horror,  and  he 
was  the  one  person  to  whom  she  could  confess 
without  surrender  of  dignity  and  esteem.  Cackles 
of  thin  laughter,  which  from  Sing-a-song  meant  sym- 
pathy, interspersed  her  monotonous  recital;  and 
when  he  he.ard  that  Slippery  Sam  was  the  occasion 
of  her  troubled  eyes  and  lagging  steps,  he  shuffled 


110  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

his  feet  and  blew  wild  notes  on  his  whistle.  Slippery 
Sam  was  his  enemy  too,  and  never  failed  to  give 
himself  cheap  sport  by  setting  the  street  urchins 
about  the  witless  boy  when  he  found  him. 

"Oh,  Bluebell,"  he  bleated.  "Poor  Bluebell! 
Never  mind ;  don't  you  cry.  And  don't  you  be  afraid 
of  Slippery  Sam.  Poor  Bluebell  1" 

That  was  all  the  comfort  he  could  give  her.  But 
when  he  left  her,  and  shuffled  towards  the  Great 
Eastern  arches  to  bed,  blowing  weird  music  from 
his  whistle,  his  thoughts  ran  upon  the  business.  His 
beautiful  lady,  his  princess,  was  in  trouble,  and  had 
told  him  all  about  it.  But  what  could  a  softy  do? 
Nobody  would  take  any  notice  of  him.  Softy,  they 
would  call  him.  He  wondered  if  he  could  kill  Slip- 
pery Sam.  It  would  be  nice  if  he  could.  Bluebell 
would  admire  him  for  that.  But  Slippery  Sam  was 
a  strong  man  and  could  fight.  Then  people  would 
find  out  that  he  had  been  killed,  and  there  was  awful 
punishment  for  that  kind  of  thing.  At  this  point 
a  lantern  flashed  upon  him,  as  he  crouched  under 
the  arch.  He  sprang  nimbly  to  his  feet,  but  a  voice 
reassured  him.  It  was  the  voice  of  P.  C.  Gossett, 
the  only  constable  in  that  district  who  never  annoyed 
or  hustled  him.  He  liked  P.  C.  Gossett.  He  was  a 
good  policeman  and  big  and  strong  and  calm. 

"All  right,  kid,"  said  Gossett  "I  didn't  know 
it  was  you.  Settle  down  and  be  good." 


BLUEBELL  111 

"Slippery  Sam's  a  bad  man,"  said  Sing-a-song  in- 
consequently. 

"Just  found  that  out,  boy?  Most  people  knew 
that  a  long  time  ago." 

"Sing-a-song  don't  like  Slippery  Sam.  'E's  un- 
kind to  people." 

uNo  more  don't  I,  old  man.  We  ain't  loved  one 
another  for  a  long  time.  But  don't  you  worry. 
One  o'  these  days  I'll  get  him,  and  then  he  won't 
give  you  nor  nobody  else  any  trouble.  I'm  only 
waiting  fer  me  chance.  Now  be'ave  yesself,  boy, 
and  I'll  see  yer  not  shifted  from  here.  Here — here's 
a  crust  of  bread  and  cheese — bit  o'  my  supper,  but 
I  don't  fancy  cheese  to-night." 

Sing-a-song  grabbed  the  food  and  ate  it;  and  all 
through  the  night  he  lay  awake  on  the  stones.  The 
morning  gave  him  an  idea.  One  way  there  was, 
he  saw  suddenly,  by  which  his  Bluebell  might  be 
saved:  a  drastic  way,  which  might  put  some  pain 
upon  her,  but  a  pain  less  hideous  and  enduring  than 
that  which  now  threatened  her.  It  was  the  only 
way  he  could  see  to  assuage  her  present  misery;  and 
he  set  himself  to  take  it. 

For  a  week  of  evenings  the  atmosphere  of  the 
Hawkins'  home  was  like  a  dark  forest,  where  surly 
red  fire  smouldered.  The  great  Fact  that  sat  al- 
ways between  them  at  table  had  now  a  shadowy 
companion — a  grim  Idea  that  crouched  behind  it 
and  made  terrible  grimaces  at  Bluebell.  Darker 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

and  darker  grew  her  father's  manner,  retreating 
from  her  day  by  day,  until  it  seemed  that  never 
again  would  they  reach  one  another;  and  day  by 
day  she  suffered  double  torture:  the  torture  of  his 
strained  face  and  the  torture  of  Slippery  Sam  with 
his  "Well,  gel,  when  am  I  goin'  to  'ave  more'n  a 
kiss,  eh?"  until  she  felt  each  night  that  the  breaking- 
point  had  been  reached,  and  the  torture  must  be 
ended  by  the  one  act  of  sacrifice  that  was  demanded. 

At  the  end  of  the  week  the  surly  red  broke  into 
fierce  flame.  Hawkins  came  home  early  that  evening, 
before  ten  o'clock.  He  dropped  heavily  into  the 
chair  by  the  kitchen  stove.  Bluebell  brought  a  bot- 
tle of  beer  and  poured  him  a  glass.  She  placed  it 
on  the  table  at  his  elbow,  but  he  did  not  drink. 
He  looked  deep  into  the  fire,  and  spoke  slowly : 

"Er— Bluebell— girl." 

*"M?" 

"Got  some  bad  news  for  you?" 

"Bad  news?  Oh — bad  news.  Yes,  what  now? 
Bad  news?" 

She  was  standing  at  the  cupboard,  replacing  the 
bottle.  He  saw  only  her  back.  It  was  bent  as  to 
receive  a  blow. 

"Yerce.       I'm  in  trouble." 

"Trouble?"  The  voice  was  a  shred  of  a  voice, 
naked.  "You  in  trouble?  And Oh,  go  on." 

He  turned  round  in  the  chair,  faced  her  and  spoke 
quickly,  without  a  pause  between  phrases. 


BLUEBELL  US 

"Yes,  girl,  trouble.  Big  trouble.  I'm  going  to 
be — I  mean  the  police  are  after  me.  I  bin  doing 
wrong — running  a  crook  business,  and  I'm  going  to 
be  locked  up.  I  can't  get  away.  They  know  who 
I  am  and  where  I  live,  and  they'll  be  here  any  minute 
now.  I  bin  running  a  bad  house,  and  somebody's 
give  me  away." 

The  bottle  slipped  from  her  hand  and  fell  with  a 
jagged  crash  to  the  floor.  She  turned  and  faced 
him;  and  even  in  his  own  deep  misery  he  thought 
he  had  never  seen  so  terrible  a  face  as  that  she 
showed  him,  with  its  wide  eyes  and  blank,  wet 
mouth. 

"Give  you  away?  Who?  Who?  Sam  Booth? 
Slippery  Sam  give  you  away?" 

"No — it  wasn't  Slippery  Sam.  He's  been  quite 
nice  to  me  lately.  It  was  that  loony  boy,  Sing-a- 
song  Joe  they  call  him.  He  gave  'em  the  office. 
Put  that  nasty,  superior  kind  o'  copper,  Gossett 
— you  know  him — on  to  it.  Slippery  Sam  tried  to 
stop  it,  but  Gossett  was  too  quick  for  him.  Said 
that  Sing-a-song  Joe  done  it  to  help  you.  Dunno 
what  he's  talking  about.  What  you  staring  at  like 
that?" 

"Oh,  God!    My  pal!    Done  for  by  my  pal!" 

"Done  for?  Here,  girl,  don't  take  on  so.  It 
ain't  so  bad,  perhaps.  There'll  be  a  bit  o'  money 
for  you  to  go  with.  I  oughta  known  it  was  bound 
to  come.  If  it  hadn't  come  that  way,  it'd  a-come 


114.  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

by  Slippery  Sam.  He  found  out  about  it  a  week 
or  two  ago.  I've  had  to  keep  him  quiet  with  money, 
but  he  wasn't  satisfied  with  money.  He's  bin  askin' 
me  for  all  sorts  of  things.  Things  I'd  never  think 
of  giving  him.  Bluebell,  girl,  it's  just  as  well,  per- 
haps, that  I'm  in  for  it,  and  don't  have  to  think 
over  what  he  wanted.  Now  that  this  has  happened 
he  can't  bother  us  no  more.  Bluebell — he  was  ask- 
ing me  for  you" 

"Yes?  That's  what  makes  it  more  awful.  That 
Sing-a-song  should  have  done  this — now.  'Cos,  you 
see,  dad" — the  words  dropped  hard  and  black  from 
her  lips — "you  see,  to  save  you,  I  gave  myself  to 
Slippery  Sam  last  night." 

Out  of  the  quiet  evening  came  the  long  scream  of 
a  tin  whistle,  as  Sing-a-song  pranced  about  the  alleys, 
warm  with  the  thought  of  service  done  to  his  lady. 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR 


~-vn— 

A  FAMILY  AFFAIR 

THERE  was  trouble  down  our  street.  There 
was  something  doing.  There  was  a  large  fly 
in  the  sweet  ointment  of  its  social  life.  The  wind 
was  well  up.  And  all  along  of  that  there  little 
Connie  Raymond  and  them  there  dirty  Chinks.  You 
could  see  at  a  glance  that  something  was  "up,"  for 
Mrs.  Raymond  was  leaning  across  the  sill  of  her 
open  parlour  window,  which  gave  directly  to  the 
street;  and  Mrs.  Raymond  only  sat  in  her  parlour 
on  solemn  occasions,  and  only  once  before — when 
Aunt  Polly  upset  the  lamp — had  the  window  been 
opened. 

She  was  haranguing  her  two  sons,  Alf  and  Bert, 
who  stood  outside,  smoking  nonchalant  cigarettes: 
Alf  incipiently  pugnacious;  Bert,  with  a  taste  for 
diplomacy,  thinking  hard.  A  group  of  little  girls 
gathered  at  a  respectful  distance,  and  sympathisers 
stood  at  their  doors ;  for  it  was  felt  that  the  affront 
fell  not  only  upon  the  Raymond  family,  but  upon 
the  whole  colony  of  Nugget  Street.  And  they 
listened  and  nodded  as  Mrs.  Raymond  made  her 
jeremiad. 

117 


1.18  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"To  think  of  it.  Our  Connie.  Going  with  a 
Chink.  And  ev'body  in  the  place  knowing  it.  Alwis 
kep'  ourselves  respectable  we  'ave.  On'y  twice  in 
'is  life  was  yer  father  put  away.  And  you  boys 
ain't  on'y  bin  pinched  oncer  twice.  Come  to  that — 
who  ain't?  Police  trouble  comes  to  ev'body — even 
the  'igh-up  ones.  But  this — and  with  all  the  papers 
full  o'  stuff  jus'  now  'bout  white  gels  going  with 
Chinks,  and  'ow  it  oughter  be  stopped.  Goes  and 
picks  up  one  at  that  there  Blue  Lantern,  and  walks 
out  with  'im.  Night  after  night.  It's  enough  to 
break  yer  'eart.  'Er  that  I've  kep'  so  respectable, 
too.  Never  bin  anything  like  it  in  our  family  be- 
fore. All  married  fair  and  square,  we  was.  And 
even  if  some  of  us  picked  wrong  'uns,  leastways  they 
was  white.  .  .  .  Oh,  don't  stand  there  like  a  couple 
of  lamp-posts.  Say  something!" 

Alf  looked  at  Bert,  and  Bert  looked  at  his  boots. 
Then  Bill  Higgins,  the  roadman,  chipped  in,  and 
said  something  consolatory. 

"I  don't  wonder  yer  worried,  missus,"  said  Bill 
Higgins. 

"A  nice  gel  like  your  Connie  going  with  one  o' 
them  when  she  could  'ave  the  pick  o'  the  street. 
It's  shameful,  that's  what  it  is,"  said  Bill  Higgins. 

"And  o'  them  dirty  yeller  boys.  They  eats  rats, 
y'know.  Yerce,  they  do.  I  seen  'em.  And  worship 
images.  And  never  wash  theirselves.  And  treach- 
erous— yeh  never  know  wher  y'are  with  'em.  Stick 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  119 

a  knife  in  yer  back  fer  tuppence,  and  think  nothing 
of  it.  And  who  knows  where  this  might  end?"  said 
Bill  Higgins. 

uThey  might  get  'old  of  Connie,  and  get  'er  to 
one  o'  their  dens,  and  you  never  see  'er  again.  Such 
things  'ave  'appened.  Treat  women  worse'n  dogs, 
they  do.  No  reverence  or  respect  for  'em.  If  Con- 
nie was  a  gel  o'  mine,"  said  Bill  Higgins,  "and  I 
caught  'er  going  with  one  of  'em,  I'd  flay  'er  alive, 
I  would."  ' 

Mrs.  Raymond  "Ooo'd"  at  the  reference  to  a 
knife,  and  Alf  and  Bert  turned  on  the  intruder. 
"Life  and  soul  o'  the  party,  yew  are,  aincher?  When 
we  want  your  advice,  we'll  send  a  post  card — see? 
'Oppit!" 

Higgins  removed  "himself,  and  Alf  and  Bert 
looked  at  one  another  again.  Mrs.  Raymond  re- 
peated herself.  "Well,  what  yeh  going  to  do  about 
it?  Do  something.  It's  fer  you  to  up'old  the  good 
name  of  the  family." 

Alf  turned  back  his  cuffs  and  spat  on  his  hands. 
"I'll  show  yeh  what  I'm  going  to  do.  Just  lemme 
get  'old  of  the  badstud  fer  five  mintes,  I'll " 

Mrs.  Raymond  sniffed.  "Much  better  get  'old  of 
'er  first,  and  find  out  'ow  far  it's  gone.  She  won't 
listen  to  'er  mother.  She  may  take  more  notice  of 
you." 

"Well,  Bert,"  said  Alf,  "you  get  'old  of  'er,  and 
ask  'er " 


120  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"No,  you're  the  eldest.  It'd  come  better  from 
you." 

"No,  you"  said  Alf  emphatically.  "I  spoke  to 
'er  before — about  that  business  of  Aunt  Amy's  to- 
matoes. And  she  likes  you  better'n  me." 

"Well,  as  you  spoke  before,  you  ought  to  now. 
She'll  take  it  better,  being  the  second  time.  She 
ain't  likely  to  give  you  another  eye  like  the  one " 

"Look  'ere,  you're  the  talking  man.  If  you're 
afraid  of  the  gel,  say  so." 

"Don't  be  silly.     I  ain't  afraid  of  no  gel." 

"Well,  I  am.  Of  >er.  So  that's  that.  I  ain't 
one  fer  words.  I'm  a  man  of  action.  I  can't  deal 
with  women.  But  I  can  with  men — if  you  can  call 
a  Chink  a  man.  There  won't  be  nothing  said  when 
I  get  'old  of  'im.  There  won't  be  much  left  of 
'im — not  enough  to  attract  gels,  anyway." 

Bert  spread  his  hands.  "Ah,  that's  where  you're 
wrong.  You  can't  deal  with  these  people  that  way. 
You  wanter  use  tact.  You  gotter  make  'em  under- 
stand the  situation.  You  can't  settle  everything 
with  a  punch  on  the  jaw.  We  gotter  get  him  to  see 
the  principle  of  the  thing.  A  few  words  from 
me " 

"I'll  make  'im  see  a  lot  o'  things  besides  principles 
when  I " 

Mrs.  Raymond  lamented  with  her  hands.  "Well, 
don't  stand  there  nagging  at  one  another.  Do 
something." 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR 

"Well,"  said  Alf,  "we're  going  to.  But  I  suppose 
the  first  thing  to  do  is  to  find  'im." 

"Ycrce,"  said  Bert  pleasantly,  "that'd  be  a  good 
idea  to  start  wiv,  Brainy.  As  you're  the  man  of 
action,  it'll  be  your  move.1' 

"But  aincher  going  to  say  a  word  to  Connie 
about  '  'Ush!  'ere  she  comes." 

Mrs.  Raymond  withdrew  her  head  from  the 
window-frame,  and  Alf  and  Bert  looked  up  and 
down  the  street,  and  at  their  boots,  and  flourished 
their  cigarettes  and  whistled.  Through  the  door- 
way of  the  Raymond  home  stepped  Miss  Raymond, 
with  the  flourish  of  a  young  bird  trying  its  wings. 
She  stepped  into  the  evening  as  though  the  evening 
had  been  "arranged"  as  a  background  from  her. 
She  passed  her  two  brothers  with  a  non-committal 
nod,  which  they  affected  not  to  see.  Her  mother 
glowered  at  her  back.  As  she  swam  down  the  street, 
Alf  nudged  Bert. 

"Now's  the  chance.  She's  going  to  meet  'im.  If 
we  follow  'em  until  she  leaves  'im,  and  then  follow 
'im,  we  can  get  'im  down  a  back-way,  and  'ave  'im 
to  ourselves,  eh?" 

Bert  agreed,  and  imparted  the  plan  to  Mrs.  Ray- 
mond, who  passed  it  to  the  street;  and  away  went 
the  two  champions  of  tender  white  womanhood 
against  the  wiles  of  the  crawling  reptiles  of  Penny- 
fields.  And  there  was  still  greater  excitement  down 
our  street  when  it  became  known  that  the  two  young 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Raymonds  were  about  to  enter  Chinatown  and  track 
down  the  assaulter  of  their  dignity,  and  work  white 
justice  upon  a  Chink.  They  were  "seen  off,"  as  it 
were.  They  were  given  a  valedictory  ovation.  It 
was  as  though  the  loungers  said  amiably  among 
themselves:  "Well,  we  shan't  see  them  no  more." 
Tales  were  told  to  Mrs.  Raymond  of  the  things 
that  had  been  done  to  white  men  who  had  crossed 
the  path  of  the  Chinks;  and  she  became  again 
voluble. 

"Ah,  that's  just  what  they  are — like  cats.  I  seen 
'im  'anging  about  the  end  of  the  street  for  'er,  and 
*e  fair  frightens  me — the  look  of  'im.  Just  like 
a  cat.  You  can't  tell  what  Vs  thinking  about.  And 
you  'ear  so  much  about  this  White  Slave  business 
now — it  gives  you  the  jumps." 

And  Alf  and  Bert,  conscious  of  the  deep  adven- 
ture to  which  they  were  committed,  swaggered  as 
they  departed. 

And  all  this  trouble  down  our  street  over  a  senti- 
mental interlude  produced  by  an  idle  moment  and 
the  weather.  It  was  late  summer,  the  season  of 
languid  skies;  the  time  of  appointments  in  the  dusky 
public  gardens;  when  shadowy  faces  at  street  cor- 
ners greet  shadowy  passers;  when  streets,  meagre 
and  tattered  by  day,  assume  a  chubby,  self-satisfied 
air  by  night;  when,  in  the  chilly  twilight,  all  is  blurred 
like  a  worn-out  film,  and,  in  the  Essex  fields  beyond 
Barking,  the  corn  stands  as  yellow  as  the  hair  of 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  123 

the  Blue  Lantern's  barmaid.  It  was  at  one  dim 
corner  of  West  India  Dock  Road,  on  such  an  eve- 
ning, that  the  young  Quong  Foo  filled  his  eye  with 
the  speaking  face  of  little  Connie  Raymond.  She 
called  him  with  a  smile,  the  smile  of  her  age  and 
class.  It  was  not  a  happy  smile,  or  a  shy  smile, 
or  a  satisfied  smile,  or  a  coy  smile,  but  a  wide,  chill, 
masterful  smile,  to  which  he  had  no  defence.  Connie 
was  an  early  adept  in  the  technique  of  the  game :  she 
had  a  keen  sense  of  the  streets.  As  she  stood  negli- 
gently shouldering  the  corner  of  the  alley,  her 
flippant  frock,  that  hung  midway  between  knee 
and  shoe,  her  saucy  hat  and  blown  brown  hair  could 
hardly  fail  to  capture  the  heart  of  a  bored  exile. 
They  did  capture  him;  and  Quong  Foo  and  she 
walked  together,  and  took  a  drink  together  at  the 
Blue  Lantern,  and  again  walked  together. 

That  was  all.  Connie  Raymond,  the  accomplished 
little  flirt,  had  walked  out  some  evenings  with  a 
grave  and  courteous  Chink,  putting  herself  in  the 
way  of  any  little  tricks  he  choose  to  work  upon  her. 
Asking  for  it,  in  fact.  And  because  of  this,  a 
pogrom  was  proclaimed  against  the  Oriental  colony 
of  Limehouse,  and  Alf  and  Bert  were  about  to 
open  it. 

Near  Limehouse  Church  they  observed  the  meet- 
ing of  Connie  and  her  yellow  boy,  and  each  fortified 
the  other  with  pronouncements  of  anathema  upon 
all  races  that  were  not  white  of  skin. 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"Don't  it  make  ycr  blood  boil,  Bert?" 

"Not  'alf  it  don't.    Disgusting,  I  call  it." 

"There  ain't  a  name  for  it." 

"I  dunno.  The  papers  what  'ave  bin  writing  about 
Chinks  getting  'old  of  white  gels  found  all  sorts  o' 
names  for  it.  Fancy  names." 

"I  dessay.  But  the  thing's  bad  enough  wivout 
giving  it  a  name.  'Ere  they  are  in  our  country, 

making  free  wiv  everything,  and Ow,  I  can 

'ardly  keep  me  'ands  orf  'im." 

"Ah,  but  you  got  to  'old  yesself  in.  It  don't  da. 
Not  with  them.  We  gotter  'andle  it  delicate-like. 
Wotter  we  going  to  say  when  we  first  pick  'im  up?" 

"Say?  I  ain't  going  to  say  nothing.  I  thought 
you  was  going  to  do  the  talking." 

"Yerce;  but  we  got  to  interduce  the  subject,  like. 
You  know — polite  but  firm.  The  velvet  'and  in  the 
mailed  fist." 

"I  should  feel  inclined  to  interduce  the  subject 
with  me  boot." 

"Ah,  but — s'pose  'e  didn't  take  no  notice  of  yer 
boot?  Eh?  You  gotter  be  careful,  y'know. 
They're  crafty  devils.  Up  to  everything.  S'pose 
while  you're  lifting  yer  boot  'e  did  something  behind 
yer  back.  Yeh  never  know.  That's  why  I  believe 
in  diplomatics." 

"Rot!  You  take  'em  too  seriously.  A  pack  o? 
dirty  Chinks.  We  gotter  teach  'em  a  lesson — show 
'em  they  can't  come  messing  round  white  gels.  They 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  125 

gotter  be  taught  their  place.  I  reckon  I'm  a  match 
for  any  three  of  them.  They're  yeller,  and  I'm 
white — and  I'm  dam  well  going  to  let  'em  know  it." 

"Shut  up,"  said  Bert.  "Look — she's  leaving  'im. 
Come  in  this  shop  'ere.  You  buy  something,  and 
I'll  watch." 

They  entered  a  small  tobacconist's,  and  Bert 
peeped  from  the  door,  and  saw  Connie  mount  an 
east-bound  bus,  and  the  Chink  walk  leisurely  down 
West  India  Dock  Road. 

"Come  on,  Alf!" 

They  scampered  out,  and  followed  hotly. 
"Damn!  'E's  going  right  down  to  the  Causeway. 
We  shan't  get  no  chance  to  get  'im  down  an  alley. 
Never  mind — we  gotter  go  through  with  it." 

"Don't  you  worry,"  said  Alf.  "I'll  see  this 
through.  Quick — 'e's  gorn  down  Pennyfields." 

They  trotted  after  the  unsuspecting  philanderer, 
saw  him  in  Pennyfields,  and  saw  him  enter  a  diminu- 
tive shop.  Swiftly  4they  came  up,  and  paused  to 
look  at  the  place.  Its  front  was  encrusted  with  dirt; 
its  windows  were  dim  with  the  smokes  of  many 
months.  It  was  more  unkempt,  more  blear  of  aspect, 
even  more  beset  by  evil  odours  than  any  house 
in  their  own  street.  Behind  the  window  was  a  litter 
of  tinned  fruits  and  a  few  strips  of  fish.  The  wood- 
work of  the  shop  was  discoloured  by  the  flight  of 
ages.  About  it  twined  a  filigree  of  spider's  web. 

"Huh !"  said  Alf.    "So  this  is  where  'e  lives.  And 


126  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

to  think  of  anybody  out  o'  this  dirty,  stinking  yellow 
place  coming  after  a  white  gel.  And  our  sister,  Bert, 
our  sister — eh?" 

Bert  was  fired  equally  with  indignation.  "You're 
right,  Alf.  Well,  now,  you  wait  outside,  and  I'll 
go  in.  I  know  the  kind  of  lingo  they  understand, 
and  if  talk  don't  'ave  no  effect  on  'im,  or  if  'e  tries 
to  do  the  dirty,  you  come  in  and  put  it  across  'im. 
See?" 

So  Bert  dashed  in,  determined  to  stand  no  non- 
sense from  eaters  of  dog.  He  looked  about  the 
dusty,  airless  shop,  but  saw  no  sign  of  the  elegant 
yellow  dude.  He  was  beginning  to  wonder  if  he 
had  mistaken  the  doorway,  when  a  curtain  at  the 
back  of  the  shop  was  pulled  aside,  and  an  elderly 
Chinaman,  wearing  a  tattered  canvas  suit  and  steel 
spectacles,  came  forward. 

"Oh,  ah — er — me  wantum  Chinkie  just  come  in." 

The  old  man  regarded  him  gravely,  without  ex- 
pression, as  though  waiting  for  him  to  speak.  This 
disconcerted  the  diplomatist,  and  he  repeated  him- 
self. 

"Me  wantum  Chinkie  just  come  in.  Me  wantum 
talkee  young  Chinkie." 

"Do  I  understand  that  you  wish  to  speak  to 
Quong  Foo?" 

Bert  looked  sharply  at  the  old  man,  ready  to  per- 
ceive trickery  in  every  movement. 

"Me  not  know  'is  name.    Me  wantee  Chinkie  just 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  127 

come  in.  Chinkie  come  muchee  talkee-talkee  my  sis- 
ter— savvy?  Chinkie  go  walkee-walkee  my  sister. 
Me  wantum  talkee  Chinkie." 

The  old  man  removed  his  spectacles  and  regarded 
Bert  with  cold  eyes.  Then  he  spoke  in  a  polished 
English  accent. 

"Ah.  I  am  the  father  of  Quong  Foo.  I  believe 
he  is  the  young  man  you  speak  of.  Do  I  understand 
that  you  are  the  brother  of  that  white  girl  with 
whom  I  have  seen  my  son  walking." 

"That's  me."  The  cold  precision  of  the  old  man's 
language  drove  Bert  back  from  pidgin  to  Cocknese. 
"And  I've  come  to  see  about  it.  A  yeller  man  and 
a  white  gel.  It's  gotter  stop." 

"I  see.  And  you  have  come  to  treat  in  the  mat- 
ter? Very  well.  How  much?"  He  held  out  a 
wrinkled  hand. 

"Eh?" 

"How  much?"  The  question  put  Bert  at  a  loss. 
He  went  to  the  door  and  drew  Alf  into  consultation. 
"  'E  says  fOw  much?'  'E's  the  bloke's  father." 

Alf  clutched  the  doorway  for  support.  4  'Ow 
much?  Meaning  money?  I'll  give  'im  Jow  much. 
It's  blackmail,  that's  what  it  is.  Blackmail,  Bert. 

I'll  give  'im "  He  dashed  into  the  shop  with 

hands  ready  for  use. 

"What's  this  you're  giving  us,  Chinkie?" 

The  old  man  held  out  a  hand,  with  a  question: 
"Five  pounds?" 


128  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

"Five  pounds?  F-five — p-p-pounds?"  Alf  and 
Bert  stared.  Alf  spluttered,  and  made  rude  noises. 
"Well,  of  all  the  bleedun  impudence !  A  dirty  yeller 

Chink  to Look  'ere!" — and  Alf  delivered  that 

paralysing  and,  to  most  people,  unanswerable  ques- 
tion: "Who  th'ell  d'yeh  think  yew  are?  Your 
blinking  son'll  be  dam  lucky  if  'e  gets  orf  wiv  a  mouf 
to  eat  wiv,  time  I've  done  wiv  'im.  Mucking  round 
white  gels — in  our  country,  too.  And  then  working 
blackmail  on  it.  Five  pounds?  Understand  this, 
Mister  Chinkie.  We  ain't  offering  no  bribes  in  this 
business.  We  don't  ave  to.  Five  pounds?  We're 
English,  and  you're  yeller.  You're  in  England,  and 
you  gotter  be'ave  yesselves  as  such — see?  See  that 
bunch  of  fives?"  He  held  up  a  knotted  fist.  "It's 
made  better  men  than  you  or  your  son  spit  out  their 
ivories.  White  men,  too.  If  you  bring  that  son 

of  yours  out  here,  I'll  learn  'im  what  it  means 
.  n 

Across  Alf's  phillipic  cut  the  stern  voice  of  the 
Chink:  "I  fear  I  am  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with 
the  idiom  of  your  language  to  follow  all  your  re- 
marks. I  gather  only  that  the  mention  of  five  pounds 
arouses  your  indignation.  Therefore,  to  settle  the 
matter  quickly,  I  will  overlook  any  question  of  an 
apology  for  the  affront,  and  will  give  ten,  twenty, 
if  need  be  fifty  pounds  if  you  will  remove  this 
white  woman  of  your  low-born  family  from  my  son's 
neighbourhood  and  undertake  that  she  shall  at  no 


A  FAMILY  AFFAIR  129 

time  again  seek  him  out  and  disgrace  the  honourable 
house  of  Quong  by  association  with  its  upright  son." 
And  then  there  was  silence:  Alf  and  Bert  recog- 
nised, for  the  first  time,  that  there  are  some  situa- 
tions to  which  neither  words  nor  blows  are  adequate. 


THE  LITTLE  FLOWERS  OF  FRANCES 


*—  vm— 

THE  LITTLE  FLOWERS  OF  FRANCES 

THEY'RE  a  sorry  crowd,  the  regulars  of  the 
Blue  Lantern.  Even  the  brightest  of  them, 
the  flash  boys  and  girls,  carry  their  terribly  new 
store  clothes  with  a  bedraggled  air.  The  others  are 
nakedly  downcast,  without  clothing  of  bravado  to 
cover  them  or  weapon  of  spirit  to  arm  them. 

The  Blue  Lantern  stands  on  Chinatown  corner, 
where  the  missionaries  love  to  prowl.  It  is  kept 
by  an  ex-bruiser  known  to  his  reg'lars  as  Dickery 
Dock.  It  is  to  Limehouse  what  the  village  green 
is  to  the  rural  community.  It  is  the  centre  of  past 
history  and  of  current  endeavour.  In  its  bars  new 
friendship  are  formed,  and  old  scores  bloodily  wiped 
out.  There  hot,  hard  words  and  vociferous  debate 
lead  to  blows  and  the  police  court,  or  end,  more 
ignobly,  with  shocking  beer-shed. 

There  valorous  schemes  are  laid,  and  the  vain 
cunning  of  the  police  is  with  sharper  cunning  frus- 
trated. There  the  keen  wit  of  the  Cockney  meets 
the  deceptive  frankness  of  the  Oriental  and  the 
tortuous  reserve  of  the  black,  and  is  often  bested, 

133 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Upon  an  evening  of  winter,  when,  in  the  mist, 
the  substance  of  the  streets  melted  into  shadow, 
and  shadow  took  on  body,  Dickery  Dock  looked 
about  the  house  and  stroked  his  chin  with  complacent 
gesture.  At  the  same  moment  a  policeman,  trying 
to  look  like  an  ordinary  citizen,  looked  in,  and  also 
made  a  complacent  gesture.  All  the  boys  were  there : 
vigilance  could  be  relaxed  for  a  while.  Dick  the 
Duke  was  there,  with  his  usual  crowd  of  worshipping 
ladies.  There,  too,  were  Binkie  Flanagan,  the  auto- 
matic-machine expert,  Nobby  the  Nark,  Big  Bessie, 
some  of  the  Roseleaf  Boys,  old  Quong  Lee  and  John 
Sway  Too,  Flash  Florrie,  little  Chrissie  Rainbow, 
Greenstockings,  and,  in  a  corner,  Sing-a-song  Joe, 
the  loony.  All  the  regulars,  in  short,  replenishing 
from  pewter  pot  and  uncouth  glass  their  store  of 
hope  and  enterprise,  and  recovering  that  calm  ac- 
ceptance of  the  untoward  which  men  call  philosophy. 
As  the  rattle  of  coins  on  the  counter  increased,  so 
did  the  buzz  and  clatter  of  the  saloon  and  four-ale 
bars  gather  volume.  Listening  from  without,  the 
stranger  would  have  said  that  everybody  within  was 
happy.  Their  noise  flowed  to,  the  street  like  the 
quiet  gurgle  of  a  self-satisfied  stream :  a  stream  that 
ignores  in  its  careless  passage  the  muddy  bed  above 
which  it  flows. 

But  one  among  the  reg'lars  was  not  happy;  could 
not  even  borrow  an  hour's  delight  on  the  usury  of 
the  glass.  Frances  of  the  Causeway,  described 


THE  LITTLE  FLOWERS  OF  FRANCES  135 

f 
colloquially  as  "Fanny,  poor  kid,"  sat  alone  on  a 

bench,  face  and  hands  listless.  Although  sitting 
with  the  crowd,  she  had  dropped  the  mask  of  alert 
nonchalance  assumed  by  girls  of  her  class  in  public 
places :  the  strain  of  carrying  it  was  too  severe  for 
her  worn  nerves.  In  the  last  two  days  she  had 
realised  that  she  was  a  back  number.  Such  beauty 
as  she  had  once  had  was  now  obliterated.  Her 
hair  was  thin  and  colourless.  Her  face  no  longer 
took  aptly  the  emmolients  and  powders  that  she 
applied.  It  was  becoming  an  effort  to  be  skittish 
and  effervescent  in  the  presence  of  potential  cus- 
tomers. She  was  no  longer  facile  in  dalliance;  her 
profane  comment  no  longer  came  pat  to  the  occasion. 
Even  the  black  men  about  the  streets  failed  to 
look  twice  at  her. 

She  sat  "all-gone,"  as  she  would  have  expressed 
it.  The  bright  light  of  invitation  that  customarily 
sat  on  her  face,  once  assumed  as  a  trade  trick,  later 
to  become  habitual,  was  out,  and  the  coarse  face 
hung  empty.  But  in  every  line  of  the  flagging  figure 
was  written  disgust  and  yearning.  She  was  done, 
and  she  knew  it;  and  she  held  yet  enough  of  her 
first  girlhood's  love  of  the  good  and  the  seemly 
to  suffer  disgust  at  her  situation  and  impotent  desire 
to  amend  it. 

Others  had  played  her  game,  and  had  done  well 
out  of  it.  Some  had  married  Chinks,  and  now  led 
silken  lives,  with  flowered  temples  made  to  their 


136  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

honour.  Others  had  moved  up  west,  where  they 
had  found  sleek  protectors  and  had  put  money  in 
the  bank.  Others  had  married  seamen  or  small 
tradesmen.  All  had  been  careful  where  she  had 
been  gay,  spending  money  as  she  got  it  and  financing 
men  friends  when  they  were  hard  up.  Little  Chrissie 
would  not  be  that  sort  of  fool.  She  was  in  the 
game  for  solid  reward,  and  saw  that  she  got  every 
promised  penny  out  of  it.  Greenstockings,  too, 
knew  where  to  draw  the  line  between  frivolity  in 
business  hours  and  recklessness  in  leisure.  But 
Fanny  had  been  caught  by  the  festal  side  of  the 
life  and  the  loud  company,  and  had  crowded  a  jag 
into  every  hour. 

And  now  she  was  through,  and  they  talked  of 
her.  "Whassup  with  Fanny,  poor  kid?"  asked 
Greenstockings.  "Looks  as  though  she'd  drawn  the 
winner  and  lorst  the  brief." 

"I  dunno.  Seems  to  'ave  got  the  fantods  lately. 
No  doing  nothing  with  'er.  She  can't  get  the  boys 
now,  and  when  she  told  me  she  was  'ard  up,  and  I 
told  'er  she  ought  to  go  to  the  Mission  Workers, 
and  they'd  get  'er  an  honest  job,  she  fair  snapped 
my  'ead  orf.  Fact  is,  she's  made  a  mess  of  things. 
She  didn't  ought  never  to  'ave  bin  in  this  game. 
She  ain't  fit  for  it.  She's  too — you  know — too — 
thinks  too  much,  like.  She's  told  me.  Although  she's 
done  things  I'd  never  do,  she  ain't  comfortable. 
Keeps  on  thinking  of  what  she's  done.  She  ought 


THE  LITTLE  FLOWERS  OF  FRANCES  137 

to  'ave  bin  respectable,  reely.  She's  made  for  that. 
Can't  you  see  'er  bathing  the  baby  and  getting  'er 
old  man's  dinner?  She  ain't  cut  out  for  this.  She's 
let  it  get  'old  of  'er  too  much." 

Fanny  sat  brooding.  A  young  seaman,  in  neat, 
shore-going  clothes,  brought  a  drink  from  the  coun- 
ter, and  sat  down  near  her.  He  glanced  at  her; 
then  edged  away.  She  caught  the  glance  and  re- 
turned it,  not  professionally,  but  with  appeal.  She 
leaned  towards  him. 

"Lend  us  'alf-a-crown,  boy." 

He  looked  up  again;  edged  a  little  farther  away; 
then  turned  a  shoulder  and  bent  to  his  glass, 
awkwardly,  as  one  afraid  of  such  women  while 
afraid  of  not  behaving  like  a  man  of  the  world. 

"Lend  us  a  shilling,  then." 

He  became  confused;  remembered  an  appoint- 
ment; drank  up  and  departed. 

Dickery  Dock,  seeing  that  she  was  without  a 
drink,  called  to  her:  "  'Ave  a  drink,  Fanny?" 

She  went  over  to  the  bar.  "No,  thanks;  I  don't 
want  a  drink.  I  say,  lend  us  half-a-crown,  Dickery." 

"Lend  you  'alf-a-crown?  'Ere — come  orf  it. 
This  ain't  a  Finance  and  Mortgage  Corporation. 
You  can  'ave  a  drink  on  the  'ouse,  if  yeh  like, 
but " 

"No,  I  want  money." 

"Money?  Well,  I  don't  know  what  yer  chances 
are  o'  gettin'  money  'ere.  Where's  yer  security? 


138  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Where  are  you  going  to  get  money — now?  You 
ain't  got  nothing  to  sell  now,  Fanny.  You  realise 
that  yesself,  doncher?  You're  past  it.  No,  Fan, 
you  ain't  got  no  chance  with  the  boys  about  'ere 
against  little  Cherry  and  young  Greenstockings  and 
the  other  flappers.  No,  kid,  you'll  alwis  be  wel- 
come to  a  drink  'ere,  but  money's  another  matter. 
You  know  I  make  it  a  rule  never  to  lend  money. 
I  don't  mind  sticking  up  a  drink  when  a  chap's 
'ard  up,  but  lend  'em  money  to  spend  in  other  'ouses 


-no." 


"I  don't  want  it  to  spend  in  other  'ouses." 

"Wodych  want  it  for,  then?" 

"I'm  going  away,  an'  I  want  to  buy  something 
most  particular." 

"Going  away?  Well,  if  you  ain't  the  bleedun 
limit!  Wanter  borrow  money  to  go  away  with! 
You  take  the  'Untley  and  Palmer,  you  do.  No, 
Fan,  I'm  sorry,  but  I  'ardly  think  that  security  would 
be  good  enough  even  for  Mugg  from  Mugtown. 
'Ave  a  drink." 

"No,  thanks.  I'll  go.  Where  I  won't  bother 
nobody." 

She  turned  from  the  bar,  her  face  momentarily 
expressing  chagrin  until  its  lines  deepened  into  utter 
misery.  The  landlord  looked  after  her,  puzzled 
at  her  attempt  to  break  his  rules,  and  at  her  attitude. 
As  she  crept  through  the  swing  doors,  he  looked 
at  some  of  the  boys  standing  at  the  bar.  "  'Ear 


THE  LITTLE  FLOWERS  OF  FRANCES  139 

what  she  said  ?  I  think  she  wants  watching.  'Where 
I  won't  bother  nobody,'  she  said.  See  if  you  can 
find  old  Nobby,  and  get  'im  to  keep  an  eye  on  'er. 
She  looks  as  if  she's  got  something  in  'er  'ead — 
making  a  'ole  in  the  water,  or  some  idea  of  that 
sort.  She  better  be  looked  after.  We  don't  want 
another  scandal  round  this  'ouse,  just  on  top  o'  the 
last" 

They  dug  out  Nobby,  and  dispatched  him  on  his 
errand;  and  the  beer  engines  banged  and  hissed, 
and  the  cash  register  clattered  and  rang,  and  the 
turmoil  of  glass  and  voice  rose  with  the  rising  hands 
of  the  clock. 

At  half-past  nine  Nobby  returned.  He  sat  down 
on  the  lounge,  and  his  shoulders  and  stomach 
vibrated  and  bass  rumbles  came  from  him.  Nobby 
was  laughing.  He  always  laughed  privately,  with- 
in himself;  but  in  the  communism  of  the  public- 
house  private  laughter  is  frowned  upon.  There 
men  abide  by  the  wisdom  of  the  poet — that  the 
weary  old  earth  is  in  need  of  your  mirth,  it  has 
enough  grief  of  its  own. 

"Now  come  on,  Nobby,  spit  it  out.  Let's  'ave 
the  joke.  Don't  keep  it  all  to  yesself." 

"G-get  us  a  d-drink,  someone.  Bitter.  I  was 
laughing,"  he  jerked  from  tremulous  lips,  "I  was 
laughing  at  Fanny,  poor  kid.  She's  just  bin  nabbed." 

"Nabbed?"  snapped  Dickery  Dock.     "Whaffor? 


140  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

She  ain't  bin  an' "  He  looked  up  and  his  great 

eyes  rolled  in  elephantine  agitation. 

"No.     Pinching — p-pinching  f-flowers!" 

"Pinching  flowers?    Shurrup!" 

"True's  I  sit  'ere.  Pinching  a  fourpenny  bunch 
o'  lilies-o'-the-valley  from  old  Gorton's  shop,  an' 
old  Gorton  caught  'er  at  it,  an'  'anded  'er  over." 

"Well,  it  sounds  queer,  but  I  don't  see  nothing 
to  laugh  about  like  you're  laughing." 

"  'Tain't  the  pinching — though  that's  funny.  It's 
what  she  said  when  they  arst  'er  why  she  done  it. 
Wod  yeh  think  she  said?  Our  Fanny,  mindyer. 
Frances  of  the  Causeway — knowing  'er  and  'er  ways 
as  we  do.  Wod  yeh  think  she  said?" 

"Go  on.    What?" 

"Said  she  pinched  'em  'cos  she  'adn't  got  no  money 
and  wanted  'em  bad.  Said  she  was  fed  up  with 
things  and  was  going  to  end  it,  and  wanted  the 
flowers  'cos — 'cos  a  bad  girl  like  'er  couldn't  go 
before  God  with  nothing  in  'er  'and.  Fanny,  mind 
yeh!  Talk  about  laugh!" 

But  Landlord  Dickery  Dock  was  indignant. 
"Laugh !  I  can't  see  nothing  to  laugh  abaht.  Seems 
to  me  solemn-like.  'Tain't  no  laughing  matter — 
pore  gel!" 


THE  PERFECT  GIRL 


—  IX  — 
THE  PERFECT  GIRL 

IT  is  one  of  the  little  tales  of  John  Sway  Too, 
which  he  tells  at  evenings  to  his  wandering  fel- 
lows in  the  half-lit  room  behind  his  store  in  Poplar 
High  Street.  There,  amid  the  pungent  odours  of 
suey  sen  and  jagree  dust  and  unguents,  tempered 
by  the  sweeter  essence  of  areca  nut,  gather  the 
youthful  yellow  seamen  newly  come  to  London. 
There,  from  the  venerable  lips  of  John  Sway  Too, 
they  learn  Rules  of  Conduct  for  this  strange  land 
and  gather  much  entertainment  besides,  for  John 
Sway  Too  has  seen  the  passing  of  many  seasons 
under  the  steel  skies  of  Limehouse. 

"It  is  to  be  observed,"  he  remarked  one  evening 
to  a  semicircle  of  young  admirers,  "that  the  white 
daughters  of  this  stream  which  men  call  the  Thames* 
by  whose  banks  we  now  sojourn,  are  very  apt  in 
guile." 

"Ao !"  cried  the  company  in  chorus. 

"And  now  that  statements  of  a  highly  objection- 
able nature  are  daily  being  made  in  the  bazaars  and 
in  the  printed  leaves  by  the  men  of  this  land  against 

143 


144?  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

the  association  of  their  daughters  with  the  serene 
and  refined  ones  from  the  land  of  the  White  Poppy, 
this  person  who  addresses  you  would  advise  you 
all  to  abjure  the  company  of  the  white  maidens." 

He  paused  to  reach  from  a  shelf  a  jar  of  li-un, 
and  extract  a  portion  of  its  contents  with  his  yen- 
hok. 

"The  refined  assembly,"  he  continued,  "will  doubt- 
less refrain  from  expressions  of  displeasure,  and 
will  concede  from  their  own  experience  that  the 
words  of  this  person  are  weighted  with  wisdom 
when  he  tells  them  that  the  attraction  which  they 
possess  for  these  white  maidens  is  almost  wholly 
in  proportion  to  the  number  of  taels — or,  as  the 
barbarian  tongue  has  it,  Bradburys — in  their  posses- 
sion; whereby  the  maidens  may  be  afforded  refined 
and  polished  relaxation  in  tea-houses  and  theatres." 

The  company  looked  doubtfully  around  the  room 
and  about  the  floor,  but  none  met  the  eye  of  his 
fellows  or  the  eye  of  John  Sway  Too. 

"Nevertheless,"  continued  the  narrator  com- 
placently, "I  have  myself  found  one  white  maiden 
of  these  cold  streets — a  maiden  of  surpassing  virtue 
and  of  beauty  like  to  dew  upon  chrysanthemums. 
Fairer  than  the  Great  Night  Lantern  on  the  garden 
is  she;  kinder  than  the  sun  to  the  bursting  bud; 
sweetest  than  the.  rain  to  the  parched  fields;  more 
gracious  than  the  nest  to  the  tired  bird." 


THE  PERFECT  GIRL  145 

"Hi-yahl"  cried  his  audience.  "Will  not  the 
estimable  John  Sway  Too  tell  us  of  her?" 

John  Sway  Too  took  the  portion  of  li-un  into 
his  hand  and  rubbed  it  slowly  into  a  pellet;  and 
the  company  drew  closer. 

"It  was  about  the  time  of  Clear  Weather,"  he 
began,  "when,  in  our  country,  the  almond  blossom 
is  scattering  its  colour  about  the  garden  walks,  and 
the  swallow  comes  again;  when,  beneath  the  brown 
earth  begin  those  agreeable  stirrings  that  rise  at 
last  to  the  full  laughter  of  the  harvest;  when,  be- 
neath the  bosoms  of  refined  youths  such  as  those 
I  now  see  before  me,  begin  these  not  unpleasing 
tremors  that  come  at  last  to  harvest  in  a  kiss.  I 
had,  on  a  fair  evening  of  this  season,  followed  my 
custom  of  visiting  a  tea-house  within  this  street, 
and  there  engaging  myself  with  white  men  in  a 
game  of  fan-tan.  But  upon  that  evening  some  evil 
spirit  was  in  possession  of  the  cards,  and  all  my 
skill  could  not  prevent  my  losing  many  cash  to  my 
base  associates.  At  a  point  when  but  a  few  cash 
were  left  to  me,  I  resolved  to  play  one  game  more, 
believing  that  my  unremitting  devotion  to  my  an- 
cestors would  lead  them  to  intervene  on  behalf  of 
their  miserable  son.  The  agreeable  state  of  mind 
with  which  I  entered  upon  this  game  was,  however, 
violently  displaced  by  emotions  of  the  most  agitat- 
ing nature;  for  I  soon  observed  that  the  cards  which 
had  fallen  to  my  hand  were  intolerably  inadequate 


146  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

to  the  purpose  of  recovering  any  portion  of  my  coins. 
When,  therefore,  the  game  was  well  begun,  I  con- 
trived, by  that  dexterity  which  my  dignified  father 
had  passed  to  me  as  his  highest  gift,  to  thwart  the 
evil  spirit  that  sought  to  undo  me,  and  to  substitute, 
by  a  rapid  movement  of  the  arm,  five  cards  of  high 
value,  which  I  carried  always  in  my  tunic  as  a  charm 
against  evildoers,  for  those  then  in  my  hand. 

"But  alas!  misfortune  pursues  even  those  most 
attentive  to  the  Four  Books  and  most  devout  in 
service  to  their  ancestors.  Scarce  had  I  effected 
the  substitution,  when  the  pig-like  eye  of  the  wholly 
detestable  Bill  Hawkins  perceived  the  movement; 
and,  disregarding  all  the  laws  of  the  Book  of  Rites, 
he  cried  aloud  his  discovery  in  that  voice  which 
many  have  likened  to  the  filing  of  an  iron  chain  by 
a  number  of  watermen  under  the  influence  of  rice 
spirit.  Immediately  the  assembled  company  laid 
aside  their  dignity,  and  fell  upon  me  with  blows 
and  base  comments  upon  my  accomplished  father 
and  the  method  by  which  he  bred  me.  With  a  total 
loss  of  the  perpendicular,  I  was  hurried  from  the  tea- 
house to  the  Causeway,  and  there  subjected  to 
usage  of  a  degrading  and  highly  painful  nature. 

"Suddenly,  at  a  point  when  the  repeated  blows 
had  become  well-nigh  unbearable,  they  ceased,  and 
a  silence  fell  upon  my  persecutors;  and  there  ap- 
peared in  our  midst  a  white  maiden  of  loveliness 
surpassing  any  loveliness  that  this  person  had  at 


THE  PERFECT  GIRL  147 

any  time  conceived.  Dazed  as  I  was  by  my  brutal 
treatment,  I  was  yet  swift  to  note  how  my  heart 
leapt  and  cried  at  sight  of  her.  Dense  dark  hair 
with  the  sheen  of  water  at  midnight,  streamed  about 
her  milk-white  brow.  Whiter  than  the  blossom 
of  the  cherry  were  her  hands,  and  her  eyes  shone 
with  the  lights  of  a  thousand  festival  lanterns.  The 
running  lines  of  her  limbs  were  as  happy  to  the  eye 
as  the  flashing  curves  of  the  swallow  in  the  middle 
air;  and  through  the  dusk  her  face  glowed  like  an 
evening  water-lily. 

"While  I  lay  prone  on  the  hard  road,  she  ad- 
dressed high  words  to  my  tormentors,  and  her  bright 
hands  flashed  against  them  like  fire-flies;  and  I 
felt  that  sweeter  to  my  wounds  than  all  ointments 
and  dressings  would  be  one  caress  from  those  hands. 
And  lo !  when  she  had  made  an  end  of  speaking,  my 
persecutors  crept  sadly  away,  and  she  bent  to  me 
— to  this  utterly  degraded  and  altogether  insignifi- 
cant person — >and  placed  an  arm  about  me,  and 
helped  me  to  a  position  of  dignity.  Like  a  roll  of 
silk  was  her  arm,  and  my  heart  became  as  the  sun 
at  high  noon.  I  murmured  foolish  words  to  her, 
not  thanking  her  as  my  rescuer,  but  blessing  her  for 
the  touch  of  her  hands  and  for  her  gracious  pres- 
ence; blessing  her  for  her  beauty  and  for  that  I  was 
vouchsafed  to  gaze  upon  her. 

"Then  she  led  me  away  to  her  palace.  I  have 
wandered  much  about  these  parts,  alongside  this 


148  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

stream,  but  in  all  my  wanderings  had  found  nothing 
but  the  large,  ungainly  buildings  of  the  merchants 
and  the  disreputable  hovels  where  dwell  the  mean 
and  the  base  of  this  city.  Scarce,  however,  had  we 
made  one  turn  out  of  the  Causeway,  than  we  came 
upon  a  noble  and  dignified  mansion,  with  iron  gates, 
tiled  paths,  and  a  green  door.  By  means  of  a  key 
this  maiden  of  surpassing  loveliness  opened  the 
green  door  and  motioned  me  to  enter.  With 
trembling  limbs,  partly  due  to  the  vile  treatment 
to  which  I  had  been  subjected,  and  partly  due  to 
the  mystery  and  enchantment  of  her  presence,  I 
did  so.  When  she  had  made  light,  she  illuminated 
two  lanterns,  and  I  found  myself  walking  upon  soft 
rugs  in  a  chamber  garnished  with  flowers  and  silks. 
Bidding  me  rest  upon  a  purple  couch,  she  retired; 
and  presently  returned  with  soft  water  and 
unguents,  and  with  these  she  blessed  my  bruises — 
ay,  with  those  lily  hands  she  tended  me.  While  I 
lay  there  in  all  my  baseness  and  misery,  this  white 
maiden  soothed  and  caressed  my  hurt  places,  and 
fed  my  bosom  with  the  rich  light  of  her  eyes.  When 
I  was  fully  comforted,  she  brought  me  wine  and 
sweet  foods,  and  sat  by  me  as  I  ate,  and  ate  with  me, 
and  my  heart  grew  so  light  as  I  received  her  smiles 
that  I  scarce  knew  it  was  there ;  nay,  it  had  changed, 
I  think,  into  a  little  murmurous  song  or  a  soft  flower 
of  the  springtide. 

"The  hours  grew  to  the  noon  of  night.     Yet  I 


THE  PERFECT  GIRL  149 

moved  not.  I  could  not  move,  for  her  beauty  held 
me  in  delicious  bonds.  As  she  sat  by  me,  my  heart 
danced  with  the  fumes  of  the  time  of  Clear  Weather, 
and  little  white  thoughts  flowed  and  fluttered  be- 
tween our  hearts,  and  the  room  was  sweetened  by 
them.  My  offending  fingers  wandered  through  the 
forest  of  her  hair.  Her  lucid  face  was  a  field  for 
my  eyes  to  rove  in.  In  my  arms  I  held  her,  heart 
to  heart,  and  all  her  shining  loveliness  was  mine. 
Her  soft  robes  ran  through  my  fingers,  and  the  strip 
of  lace  about  her  neck  was  to  me  fairer  than  the 
jewels  of  the  temple.  When  the  lanterns  faded, 
her  eyes  flooded  the  night  with  silver,  and  with 
my  head  upon  her  young  breast  I  dreamed  of  these 
streets  in  Limehouse,  and  how  all  men  were  kind 
to  us;  where  white  maidens  scoffed  not  at  us  because 
our  faces  are  golden  like  the  sun;  nor  deceived  us 
with  soft  words  for  the  purpose  of  obtaining  taels 
from  us. 

"To  me,  John  Sway  Too,  she  gave  these  hours 
of  beauty.  But  she  gave  me  more  than  this.  She 
gave  me  her  inner  mind.  She  gave  me  kindness 
and  warm  understanding;  and  though  our  spoken 
words  fell  without  significance  upon  each  other's 
ears,  we  had  full  knowledge  without  them.  So 
passed  the  hours  in  the  bliss  of  sympathy  and  beauty. 
All  these  gifts  I  had  of  her  without  return.  Nay, 
far  from  requiring  money  of  me  for  the  gift  her 
charms,  as  other  white  girls  do,  she  gave  me  of 


150  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

her  own  store — pressed  it  upon  me  that  I  might 
replenish  my  purse  by  play. 

"Yea,  truly,  when  at  last  I  felt  that  I  should 
depart,  she  pressed  upon  me  many  taels,  knowing 
that  I  was  without  substance,  and  a  basket  of  elegant 
provisions.  When  I  would  have  made  a  dignified 
refusal,  she  smiled  upon  me,  and  I  then  took  what 
she  had  offered  me  and  knew  that  I  need  speak  no 
words  of  thanks.  She  led  me  herself  from  her  own 
noble  mansion  to  the  door  of  my  base  and  despicable 
hovel;  and  there,  in  the  street,  she  left  me  with  a 
memory  of  love  that  scattered  wonder  and  beauty 
upon  the  mean  houses  about  me,  and  made  even 
the  shadows  of  the  shops  that  fell  upon  the  path- 
way she  had  trodden,  more  dear  and  desirable  than 
all  the  substance  of  my  own  country." 

John  Sway  Too  paused,  and  reached  for  his  pipe, 
while  the  company  sat  mute  with  shining  eyes  and 
gaping  mouths. 

Presently — "And  did  you  never  see  her  again — 
this  maiden  of  surpassing  virtue  and  loveliness?" 
asked  one. 

"Many  times  since  have  I  seen  her,  my  son.  And 
each  time  she  is  more  lovely  and  gracious,  and  pours 
sweeter  blessings  upon  my  unworthy  person." 

"Ao!  Ao!"  they  cried  eagerly.  "She  is  still  here 
then?  She  is  still  to  be  seen  about  these  streets? 
Could  it  be  granted  that  we  might  at  some  time 


THE  PERFECT  GIRL  151 

catch  even  a  distant  glimpse  of  her  enchantments — 
could  for  one  moment  behold  her?" 

"In  truth,  yes.  More  than  that,  you  may  see  her 
and  be  with  her  even  as  I  have  been  with  her.  You 
may  feast  of  her  white  beauty  and  rare  mind  even 
as  I." 

"Hi-yah !  Where,  oh,  where  may  we  find  her,  O 
refined  and  elegant  John  Sway  Too.  Tell  us  quickly. 
Direct  us  to  her,  to  this  one  white  maid  who  will 
not  scorn  our  worship." 

"The  gracious  and  high-minded  company,"  replied 
John  Sway  Too,  "who  have  listened  so  attentively 
to  my  trivial  and  wearisome  discourse,  may  find  the 
Perfect  White  Maid  even  as  I  found  her;  and  once 
they  have  found  her  they  will  renounce  the  company 
of  all  other  daughters  of  this  sunless  land.  They 
will  find  her  in  anyone  of  these  little  pellets  of  li-un 
which  I  am  about  to  smoke  in  this  very  ordinary  and 
ill-constructed  pipe." 


THE  AFFAIR'  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE 


—  X  — 

THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE 

IT  is  a  pitiful  story,  this  of  George  and  Violet. 
Silly,   I   call  it.     Motiveless.     To  young  lives 
pulled  about,  and  the  ends  twisted  into  nothing. 
Nobody  to  blame.     All  doing  the  right  thing,  as 
they  saw  it.    But  that's  the  way  of  things. 

Commercial  Road  East  is  a  loud  London  thor- 
oughfare, packed  with  poor  shops  and  stalls.  In  it 
the  modern  jostles  the  antique,  and^^fehe  antique 
shames  the  modern.  A  few  tawdry  cinemas  throw 
upon  it  a  thin  festal  glojSPs^nt  links  Whitechapel 
with  Limehousew^  So  well  acquainted  are  its  people, 
with  petty  crime  and  rough  justice  that  the  discovery 
of  the  bodies  in  the  warehouse  made  little  impres- 
sion upon  them  save  as  a^  topic  forjthe  evening  in 
the  bars.  Three  days  after  the  inquest  it  was  for- 
gotten. Here  are  copied  the  few  surviving 
documents  by  which  the  story  became  public. 

Well  Joe  this  is  a  hell  of  a  thing  to  do,  but  we 
are  going  through  with  it.  I  was  called  up  last 
week.  But  I  am  not  going  and  I  cant  go  till  me 

155 


156  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

and  Violet  have  had  a  bit  of  time  together.  Aint 
it  awful  we  should  be  like  this — always  at  someones 
beck  and  call.  Oh  Joe  love  does  make  a  difference 
to  you.  I  hope  some  day  you  will  find  a  girl — not 
like  what  we  used  to  click  with  in  Commercial  Road 
but  a  real  girl.  Violet  was  15  on  Tuesday,  so  we 
decided  to  make  it  that  day.  I  met  her  as  she  come 
from  the  factory  Joe  and  we  went  a  long  walk  and 
then  a  tram  ride  and  then  got  back  these  parts 
about  midnight.  I  had  got  it  all  fixed.  I  had  been 
looking  round  for  some  time  and  found  what  we 
wanted  where  nobody  would  ever  dream  of  looking 
for  us.  It  was  a  warehouse  Joe  over  in  the  Island 
but  it  had  been  empty  for  a  long  time.  I  had  got 
in  the  night  before  and  had  a  look  round  and  it 
was  all  nice  and  dry  on  the  first  floor  and  I  found 
a  lot  of  straw  shavings  and  things  and  I  made  up 
a  bit  of  a  bed  like  and  tied  a  lot  of  it  together  and 
made  hassicks  to  sit  on  and  I  fixed  up  a  few  old 
planks  to  make  a  sort  of  table.  Lucky  it  was  warm 
weather  else  we  should  have  been  cold  because  it 
wouldnt  have  done  to  have  started  a  fire  in  the 
stove  because  someone  who  knew  the  place  might 
see  the  moke  coming  out.  Well  Joe  that  is  where 
I  took  her.  I  had  laid  in  a  bit  of  grub  of  a  sort 
and  at  one  in  the  morning  we  sat  down  there  to- 
gether as  cosy  as  you  please  and  had  it.  We  didnt 
neither  of  us  eat  much.  We  was  too  excited  I 
think. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE     157 

Oh  Joe  we  was  happy.  I  hope  Joe  some  day 
you  will  be  as  happy  because  you  have  been  a  good 
pal  to  me  and  I  always  liked  you  Joe  and  I  want 
everybody  to  know  how  happy  you  can  be  together 
with  a  girl  you  love  and  what  loves  you.  Oh  Joe  I 
never  knew  before  how  beautiful  things  were.  I 
never  knew  how  lovely  girls  are  and  what  a  differ- 
ence comes  into  a  girls  face  when  she  looks  at  her 
boy  and  nestles  up  to  him.  Joe  do  you  remember 
how  we  used  to  joke  about  love  and  getting  mar- 
ried. Its  seems  horrible  to  thing  of  it  now.  But 
I  hope  Joe  you  wont  have  to  hide  like  a  rabbit  and 
only  slink  out  at  night  all  because  you  love  some- 
body— that  is  what  we  got  to  do. 

DEAR  JOE — we  have  been  here  twenty-four  hours 
now.  I  suppose  V  has  been  missed  from  the  factory 
and  from  home  and  I  reckon  they  are  wondering 
where  I  got  to  but  I  know  you  wont  give  a  pal  away 
Joe. 

I  slipped  out  last  night  to  get  some  more  grub  in. 
Good  job  the  streets  is  dark.  Anyhow  I  didnt  show 
my  face  at  any  shop  round  here.  I  went  up  to 
Canning  Town.  I  couldn't  get  much  because  we 
darent  use  our  ration  books  us  being  registered  at 
local  shops  for  this  and  that  which  would  have  got 
us  nabbed  if  we  shown  our  faces  where  we  was 
known.  But  I  called  at  Fat  Freds  place  up  at 
Canning  Town  and  got  some  boiled  beef  and  pease 


158  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

from  him  without  a  coupon.  I  pumped  him  a  bit 
and  he  didnt  know  anything  was  wrong.  There 
wont  be  nothing  in  the  papers  for  a  bit  I  suppose 
but  I  bet  V's  father  will  go  to  the  police  if  she  aint 
home  to-night.  I  managed  to  get  some  beer  and 
some  lemonade  and  I  pinched  a  glass  from  the 
lemonade  shop. 

.Oh  Joe  when  I  got  back  I  slipped  in  quiet  like 
and  V  didnt  hear  me  and  what  do  you  think  I  saw. 
She  was  sitting  on  one  of  the  hassicks  and  just  as  I 
got  there  she  reached  for  my  old  cap — what  I 
thought  I  hadnt  better  wear  because  it  is  a  bright 
brown  colour  and  might  be  known — and  hugged  it 
to  her  and  kissed  it.  Oh  Joe  I  cant  tell  you  what  it 
makes  a  chap  feel  when  he  sees  his  girl  do  like  that. 
As  soon  as  I  see  what  she  was  doing  I  slipped  out 
again  and  come  back  again  and  made  a  bit  of  a  noise 
this  time  so  she  would  know.  Oh  Joe  how  I  love  her. 
Joe  if  we  was  to  die  at  the  same  time  I  want  you 
to  go  to  her  people  and  mine  and  make  them  swear 
to  let  us  be  buried  together.  You  will  do  this  for  me 
Joe  wont  you.  You  wont  let  a  pal  down  will  you. 
You  got  to  do  it  in  case  anything  happens. 

I  expect  her  father  wont  half  be  wild  but  if  it 
did  happen  you  must  tell  him  it  is  my  wish  and  V's 
wish.  It  is  a  bit  out  of  the  ordinary  I  know  but  if 
he  loved  his  daughter  and  wants  to  do  something 
to  make  up  for  those  awful  bruises  that  she  carries 
on  her  arms  and  legs  from  him  I  think  he  will  agree 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE     159 

to  it.  If  he  doesnt  and  there  is  a  Judge  above  us 
I  hope  he  will  meet  out  punishment  to  those  what 
have  deserved  it  by  keeping  us  apart  and  treating 
her  so  shameful.  Tell  him  that  Joe. 

But  why  am  I  going  on  like  this.  We  are  just 
in  love  with  everything  at  present  and  we  both 
laugh  a  lot  at  having  to  sneak  out  and  lie  doggo 
all  day.  I  took  V  out  for  a  stroll  at  about  eleven 
and  we  mooched  round  a  bit  and  it  was  a  lovely 
night.  Although  we  dont  talk  to  nobody  but  each 
other  we  aint  lonely.  You  aint  Joe  when  you  love 
properly. 

Well  Joe  last  night  we  skipped  away  about  eleven 
and  it  was  another  lovely  night  so  we  walked  to 
Liverpool  Street.  We  caught  a  late  train.  I  didnt 
know  where  it  was  going  but  we  hopped  on  without 
a  ticket  and  went  miles  and  miles  into  the  country. 
And  when  it  stopped  at  a  place  that  looked  nice  we 
got  out  and  I  paid  the  fares  from  Liverpool  Street. 
It  was  lovely.  We  got  there  about  one  in  the  morn- 
ing and  we  walked  a  bit  of  a  way  till  we  come  to  a 
wood  and  then  we  laid  down  under  a  tree  where  it 
was  all  mossy  and  soft  and  we  woke  up  about  six 
when  it  was  light  and  it  looked  just  like  God's  own 
country — all  lovely.  V  did  enjoy  it.  Well  we  just 
lazed  about  in  them  woods  and  played  hide  and  seek 
and  run  races.  Come  on  says  V  come  and  catch  me. 
And  off  she  went  and  she  can  run  too.  She  did  lead 


160  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

me  a  dance.  And  then  she  bolted  into  another  wood. 
I  was  yards  behind  her  and  there  I  heard  her  voice 
saying  I  am  lost  come  and  find  me.  So  I  went  after 
where  the  noise  come  from  and  then  I  heard  it 
behind  me — I  am  lost  come  and  find  me.  And  then 
I  seemed  to  hear  it  everywhere  but  when  I  went 
there  it  come  from  somewhere  else.  And  all  of  a 
sudden  Joe  I  felt  so  lonely  like  in  that  wood  because 
I  couldnt  see  her  nowhere  but  only  heard  her  saying 
come  and  find  me.  And  I  didn't  like  it.  And  I  got 
tired  of  the  wood.  So  I  called  to  her  come  out  and 
there  she  was  right  behind  me.  We  didnt  play  that 
game  no  more.  We  was  getting  hungry.  So  we 
walked  into  a  village  and  had  a  slap  up  time  with 
eggs  and  tea  and  lettiss  and  radishes  and  things. 
There  was  a  piano  there  and  V  sat  down  and  played 
all  the  ragtimes  for  about  an  hour.  She  always 
was  one  for  a  bit  of  music  as  you  know.  The  old 
girl  who  kept  the  place  thought  we  was  just  a  couple 
of  London  munition  workers  what  had  got  a  day 
off  and  she  was  so  took  with  V  she  couldnt  do  enough 
for  us.  We  had  a  fine  wash  and  brush  up  there  and 
wanted  it.  That  is  what  troubles  us  most.  We  cant 
find  hot  water  in  the  warehouse.  She  said  she  could 
let  us  have  rooms  if  we  wanted  to  stay  the  night  but 
me  and  V  didnt  want  to  be  separated  and  we  thought 
sleeping  out  nicer.  So  we  slept  out  that  night  again 
but  not  in  those  woods  because  we  found  a  nicer 
place  just  on  the  banks  of  a  river. 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE    161 

V  is  no  end  tickled  by  the  way  I  talked  to  the  old 
girl  and  the  way  I  manage  things  and  find  out  the 
cheap  places.  She  said  she  never  knew  I  had  so 
much  swank  in  me  that  is  because  I  have  always  been 
a  bit  quiet  and  awkward  with  her  like  a  chap  is  when 
he  is  really  in  love. 

We  come  back  to  the  warehouse  to-night.  Every- 
thing looked  alright.  It  didnt  look  as  though  any- 
body had  spotted  us.  I  wish  there  was  some  way  of 
your  dropping  a  note  into  the  place  so  I  can  hear 
the  news  and  know  what  is  going  on  and  whether 
there  is  any  trouble  about  our  going  away.  Joe 
that  is  quite  right  that  about  a  friend  in  need  being 
a  friend  indeed.  You  have  always  been  the  best  pal 
a  chap  ever  had  and  we  have  had  some  great  times 
together  aint  we.  You  have  been  closer  than  a 
brother  to  me  Joe.  I  will  say  that.  You  will  easy 
know  the  place.  Second  to  the  right  as  you  get  into 
Folly  Wall — a  big  empty  place  with  a  couple  of 
pulley  cranes  outside  and  a  notice  to  Let.  Stick  it 
under  the  door  Joe  but  dont  try  to  see  us.  We  cant 
take  no  risks. 



Got  your  note  old  man.     I  guessed  how  it  would 

be  but  it  is  a  good  thing  they  don't  put  two  and 
two  together.  I  hope  the  police  didnt  upset  my 
landlady  when  they  called  round.  She  is  a  good 
old  body.  I  suppose  they  think  I  have  just  bolted 


162  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

to  avoid  military  service  and  dont  guess  we  have 
gone  together.  I  cant  help  laughing  at  that  when  I 
know  how  we  was  both  looking  forward  to  joining 
up  when  we  was  eighteen  wasnt  we.  But  that  was 
before  I  met  V.  I  am  sorry  her  Dad  has  written  to 
the  papers  about  her  disappearance.  I  showed  V 
your  note  and  she  says  she  will  never  never  go  back 
to  her  Dad.  Oh  Joe  if  you  had  seen  the  bruises 
and  weels  on  her  dear  body  you  would  feel  like  I 
do  like  as  if  I  could  do  a  murder  on  the  man  what 
done  it.  Bad  as  things  are  when  I  see  my  little 
white  darling  all  marked  like  that  and  think  of  the 
shame  and  torture  that  I  have  saved  her  from  I 
am  glad  over  again  for  taking  her  away.  As  long 
as  we  are  not  caught  I  dont  care  a  dam  whether 
the  whole  world  knows  we  have  gone  together.  I 
never  did  mind  what  people  thought  about  me  no 
more  do  you.  We  have  always  kept  ourselves  to 
ourselves  havent  we  and  V  was  always  refined  and 
didnt  mix  much  with  the  other  lot  and  took  no  notice 
what  they  said  about  her.  She  asks  me  to  thank 
you  for  what  you  have  done  for  us  and  for  keeping 
our  secret.  You  are  the  only  man  in  the  world  beside 
ourselves  that  knows.  V  never  told  a  soul — she 
hadnt  got  anybody  she  could  trust  like  I  can  trust 
you  old  man.  One  thing  troubles  me.  When  V 
had  read  your  letter  and  the  bit  about  the  cops  being 
after  me  she  looked  rather  funny.  She  seems  to  be 
happy  enough  and  I  think  she  is  for  God  knows  I 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE    16$ 

would  cut  my  throat  if  that  would  make  things  any 
nicer  for  her.  But  she  has  said  once  or  twice  that 
she  has  been  a  lot  of  trouble  to  me  and  to  everybody 
else  and  she  said  it  again  this  time  and  I  dont  like 
to  hear  her  talk  that  way.  Oh  Joe — what  a  won- 
derful girl  she  is.  Such  character  and  principals  she 
has  got — I  never  met  anyone  like  her  for  that  among 
our  set  which  is  all  the  kind  I  know.  If  ever  there 
was  a  real  good  girl  it  is  her.  And  so  lively  and  all 
— over  what  we  have  to  put  up  with  in  this  place. 

Oh  Joe  Joe.  It  has  happened.  I  knew  it  would. 
I  never  dared  think  of  it.  I  never  said  so  to 
myself.  I  just  knew  it  deep  down  like.  You  will 
say  that  sounds  silly  but  it  is  a  fact.  I  knew  it  all 
the  time.  And  it  has  come. 

Joe  I  had  been  out  to  get  something  for  supper 
and  I  come  back  with  some  hard-boiled  eggs  and 
some  beer  and  a  loaf  of  bread  and  some  bananas 
and  some  saveloys  what  I  had  knocked  off  while 
the  chap  was  arguing  with  someone.  And  I  was 
looking  forward  to  the  feed  we  was  going  to  have 
Joe — and  oh  Joe  it  is  awful  to  write  about.  Me 
coming  in  with  those  things  what  I  had  had  such 
fun  in  getting  for  her.  And  then  Joe  there  she 
was  lying  on  the  bed  of  shavings  all  still.  I  knew 
before  I  looked  at  her.  She  was  dead  Joe  and 
there  was  a  bottle  of  something  by  her  side.  How 
she  had  got  it  I  don't  know  because  she  never  went 


164  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

into  any  shop  without  me.  She  must  have  brought 
it  with  her  in  case.  But  oh  Joe  she  is  dead  now — 
my  darling  little  V.  Oh  God  I  loved  her  Joe  more 
than  I  thought  one  could  and  it  is  me  what  has 
killed  her.  I  didn't  ought  to  have  interfered.  I 
didn't  ought  to  have  taken  her  from  her  home  but 
what  could  I  do  Joe  when  I  loved  her  so  and  see 
her  suffering  like  that.  I  never  thought  that  being 
in  love  meant  what  it  has  to  me.  I  never  see  none 
of  these  awful  things  coming  Joe  when  I  first  knew 
her.  She  had  left  a  letter  for  me  for  good-bye. 
This  is  what  she  says  Joe  my  precious  little  girl: 

SWEET, 

I  love  you  too  much  to  see  you  in  any  more 
trouble  than  you  have  already  got  into  through 
loving  me  so.  I  will  now  say  good-bye  sweetheart 
for  the  last  time  and  when  you  see  Joe  say  Hullo 
for  me  and  tell  him  I  hope  we  will  all  meet  again 
some  day.  You  will  let  Dad  know  wont  you  sweet- 
heart. I  thought  after  a  while  we  might  have  gone 
back  and  got  married  when  he  had  calmed  down 
a  bit  but  there  seems  no  way  out. 

Why  cant  we  do  what  we  want  to  so  long  as  we 
dont  do  nobody  any  harm.  When  I  met  you  dear 
I  knew  then  that  the  world  was  good  and  all  a 
lovely  place.  Why  did  they  bother  us  so.  I  won- 
der why  we  cant  all  be  happy.  I  thought  the  world 
was  so  big  and  good  but  really  it  is  like  being  in 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE    165 

a  cage.  You  cant  do  anything  in  the  world  unless 
somebody  else  kts  you.  I  am  myself  and  so  are 
you.  Why  cant  we  be  let  alone. 

Tell  Joe  that  if  he  finds  a  nice  girl  I  hope  he 
wins  her  and  dont  have  nobody  saying  you  shant 
and  he  will  be  happy  as  I  know  I  would  if  I  could 
live  for  always  with  you  dear. 

Well  Joe  I  want  you  to  take  this  letter  to  the 
police  and  tell  them  to  come  here  and  they  will 
find  us  because  this  is  Goodbye  for  me  too  Joe. 
I  cant  help  thinking  as  I  write  this  and  look  at  her 
lying  there  so  still  what  she  was  saying  in  the  woods. 
It  seems  I  can  hear  her  voice  in  this  warehpuse 
Joe  saying  I  am  lost  come  and  find  me.  So  I  am 
going  to  her  Joe.  I  got  that  little  gun  what  we 
bought  for  a  lark  in  Bethnal  Green  Road  and  I 
got  two  cartridges.  Joe — dont  you  forget  what 
I  said  in  one  of  the  other  letters  about  our  being 
side  by  side.  You  got  to  see  it  done  Joe  for  the 
sake  of  your  old  dead  pal.  And  now  goodbye  and 
all  the  best  to  you  and  all  the  rest  of  the  chaps  at 
the  works.  It  is  all  over.  It  had  to  end  somehow 
I  suppose  and  I  knew  this  would  be  it  and  perhaps 
this  way  is  just  as  well.  There  is  a  lot  of  misery 
in  the  world  Joe  that  nobody  can  help.  My 
darling  had  a  rough  time  all  her  life  but  she  looks 
very  quiet  now  like  as  though  she  had  dropped 


166  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

off  to  sleep  after  being  very  tired.    I  hope  you  will 
have  a  better  time  when  you  meet  your  girl  Joe. 

From  the  Local  Press. 

When  information  was  taken  to  Ephraim  Car- 
fax, who  was  found  at  the  Wesleyan  Chapel  at 
Foljambe  Street,  that  the  dead  body  of  his  daugh- 
ter, Violet  Beatrice  Carfax,  had  been  found  in 
a  disused  warehouse  side  by  side  with  the  dead 
body  of  a  man  who  was  being  sought  by  the  military, 
he  made  no  comment  beyond  saying:  "I  thought 
she  had  gone  with  a  man.  This  is  a  sad  blow. 
What  are  they  going  to  do  with  the  bodies?  I 
suppose  this  will  get  into  the  papers."  Mr.  Car- 
fax, who  has  an  ironmongery  business  in  Maroon 
Street,  is  a  well-known  chapel  worker,  and  is  highly 
respected  in  the  district. 

At  the  inquest  on  the  bodies  of  Violet  Beatrice 
Carfax,  15,  and  George  Borrowdale,  18,  verdicts 
of  Suicide  while  of  unsound  mind  were  returned  in 
each  case,  a  rider  being  added  to  the  effect  that  the 
girl  was  clearly  under  the  influence  of  the  man  at 
s  from  the  deceased  were  put  in 


which  seemed  to  call  for  no  other  verdict.  The 
father  of  the  girl,  giving  evidence,  stated  that  she 
had  disappeared  on  Wednesday  the  i8th.  Regard- 
ing certain  passages  in  the  letters,  he  admitted 
having  frequently  whipped  her  in  order  to  stop  her 


THE  AFFAIR  AT  THE  WAREHOUSE    167 

from  "going  with  boys,"  and  to  make  her  come  in 
by  nine  o'clock.  She  was  always  in  the  streets.  He 
was  not  aware  that  on  several  occasions  when  she 
had  not  come  home  until  half-past  ten,  and  had  been 
punished,  her  factory  was  working  overtime.  He 
had  not  believed  her  when  she  pleaded  this,  as  she 
was  not  always  truthful. 

The  jury  expressed  their  sympathy  with  the  father 
in  his  bereavement,  who  is  a  prominent  and  highly- 
respected  chapel  worker. 


J  The  funeral  of  Violet  Beatrice  Carfax,  who,  to- 
gether with  a  man,  committed  suicide  in  a  disused 
warehouse,  took  place  to-day  at  Poplar.  Although 
the  deceased  had  expressed  in  their  letters  a  wish 
that  they  might  be  buried  together,  the  father  of 
Carfax  refused  to  permit  this.  The  body  of  the 
man  was  interred  to-day  at  Islington.  There  were 
no  mourners  in  either  case,  Mr.  Carfax,  who  is 
well  known  locally  as  a  chapel  worker,  being  con- 
fined to  his  home  with  a  chill. 


BIG  BOY  BLUE 


—  XI  — 
BIG  BOY  BLUE 

BIG  BOY  BLUE  had  been  for  some  years  the 
most  adroit  cop  of  his  station.  He  was  a 
good  mixer.  He  had  presence,  carnage,  and  ad- 
dress, and  could  wear  mufti  without  looking  like 
a  policeman.  He  was  big,  calm,  taciturn;  slow  to 
speak,  quick  to  smile;  and  in  all  situations  imper- 
turbable. The  most  exacting  business,  the  cleanest 
skin-of-the-teeth  extraction  from  disaster,  seemed 
to  afford  him  no  thrill.  If  he  discussed  his  adven- 
tures with  others  of  his  division,  he  did  so  per- 
functorily, in  flat  tones,  as  though  speaking  of 
another.  He  seemed  always  the  spectator,  observ- 
ing himself  as  well  as  others.  He  drank  with  his 
fellows,  and  received  their  confidences,  giving 
nothing  in  exchange  beyond  a  call  for  the  next 
round.  He  seemed  to  stand  aloof  from  the  harm- 
less human  follies  of  his  circle;  was  impervious  to 
the  beauty  of  girls;  did  not  gamble;  took  little 
interest  in  games;  did  not  tell  the  kind  of  anecdote 
that  men  tell  one  another;  yet  found  himself  wel- 
come in  any  crowd. 

171 


172  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

His  colleagues  liked  him;  bar-tenders  liked  him; 
crooks  liked  him  and  stood  him  drinks  and  chaffed 
him  about  their  mutual  relationship.  He  was  even 
welcome  in  Chinatown.  Little  misconduct  took 
place  in  those  streets  while  he  was  about.  When- 
ever a  Tong  battle  was  imminent  Big  Boy  Blue 
was  told  off  to  see  to  it;  and  he  saw  to  it  by  walk- 
ing up  to  the  battling  Chinks  and  calmly  demanding 
their  weapons;  which  were  immediately  given  up 
to  him. 

At  the  Tea-house  of  Ah  Fat  he  was  notably  wel- 
come, and  the  best  tea  was  served  to  him  with 
selected  chrysanthemum  buds.  He  was  welcome 
here  for  two  reasons:  because  Mr.  Ah  Fat  was 
wise  in  Western  ways  and  had  discovered  the  ex- 
pediency of  standing  well  with  the  police,  and 
because  Mr.  Ah  Fat  had  a  daughter  who,  from 
her  shuttered  retreat,  looked  forth  and  worshipped 
the  valiant  form  and  grave  demeanour  of  Big  Boy 
Blue.  Ah  San  Lee  was  so  carefully  guarded  by 
her  father  that  few  knew  of  her  existence.  Seldom 
was  she  seen  by  strangers.  On  rare  occasions,  cus- 
tomers at  her  father's  tea-house  had  seen,  mo- 
mentarily, at  the  end  of  the  dim  passage  leading  to 
the  kitchen,  a  round,  moonlike  face  with  flat,  black 
hair;  but  it  was  gone  before  one  might  say  whether 
it  belonged  to  man  or  woman. 

But  Boy  Blue  had  seen  her.  When,  on  unpre- 
meditated occasions,  he  had  called  at  a  late  hour 


BIG  BOY  BLUE  173 

at  the  shop  of  Ah  Fat,  and  entered  the  rooms  for 
a  tour  of  inspection,  Ah  Fat  had  received  him 
with  courtesy;  and,  after  the  inspection,  had  pressed 
upon  him  a  pot  of  suey  sen.  Then  he  would  ac- 
company him  to  a  table  in  the  empty  restaurant  and 
Ah  San  Lee  would  come  forth  and  wait  upon  them. 
The  exquisite  finish  of  her  form  and  the  grace  of 
her  movements  and  her  plaintive  smile  were  lost 
upon  Boy  Blue;  he  observed  only  men;  and  he 
would  talk  to  her,  with  tolerant,  heavy  humour,  and 
in  the  manner  which  some  men  think  pleasing  to 
children. 

"Well,  Angel-Face,  d'you  back  the  winner  yes- 
terday? No?  Come,  come.  And  after  what  I 
told  you.  I  told  you  to  back  Ching-Chang  for  the 
two-thirty."  And:  "Well,  Gladiola,  when  are 
you  going  to  grow  up  and  get  as  big  as  me,  eh?" 

And  Ah  Fat  would  sit  back  and  say  nothing  and 
look  nothing,  while  San  Lee  would  droop  her  eyes 
and  roll  her  head  and  worship.  Very  powerful  was 
Ah  Fat  in  Chinatown.  He  was  the  chief  of  his 
Tong  (The  Silver  Chrysanthemum),  and  men  had 
named  him  the  Fire-spouting  Dragon.  Greed  sat 
upon  his  brow  and  ate  into  his  skin.  He  was  the 
richest  of  all  the  Quarter,  and  his  riches  had  come 
to  him  by  the  misfortunes  of  others:  not  by  the 
honourable  means  of  trade  or  the  gaming-table. 
He  was  a  money-lender,  and  crafty  in  his  method. 
When  sums  loaned  became  due,  he  would  simulate 


174  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

kindly  concern  with  the  affairs  of  his  debtor,  and 
would  gently  pass  back  a  portion  of  the  money; 
and  few  were  at  first  sufficiently  keen-witted  to  de- 
tect the  trick.  Always  he  was  affably  ready  with 
cash  assistance  to  the  needy  and  unfortunate;  and 
as  men  do  not  freely  talk  of  their  pecuniary  em- 
barrassments, or  compare  notes  upon  their  treat- 
ment by  usurers,  it  came  about  that  half  Chinatown 
was  in  great  or  small  degree  in  his  power.  When 
he  began  to  use  his  power  he  became  a  nuisance; 
and  store-keepers  and  laundry-men  began  to  suffer 
acute  disorder  of  mind.  Unable  to  resist  his  power, 
they  directed  their  animosity  against  those  of  his 
Tong;  and  again  those  street  battles,  which  Boy 
Blue  had  so  often  quelled,  broke  out  again.  This 
caused  so  much  irritation  to  peaceful  seamen  and 
dock  workers,  who  found  that  public  bloodshed 
interrupted  their  private  beer-shed,  that  complaints 
were  laid;  and  Boy  Blue  was  assigned  to  see  to  it. 

He  saw  to  it,  and,  from  his  inquiries,  learnt  the 
full  story  of  the  iniquities  of  Ah  Fat  in  the  matter 
of  his  usury.  He  reported.  Plans  were  then  laid 
for  breaking  the  power  of  Ah  Fat  and  his  Tong, 
and  relieving  his  victims  from  his  duress;  and  news 
of  these  plans  came  to  Ah  Fat. 

Ah  Fat  set  himself  to  see  to  it.  He  waddled 
about  his  tea-house  and  his  kitchen,  and  thought. 
Then  he  sent  for  San  Lee. 

"Dissa  Big  Boy  Blue/'  he  said,  "he  get  veh  busy 


BIG  BOY  BLUE  175 

jus'  now.  Big  Boy  Bine  he  make  heap  damn  fella 
trouble."  He  smiled  and  showed  bis  teeth,  pink 
from  much  chewing  of  areca-nut. 

San  Lee  listened  and  said  nothing, 

"Dissa  Big  Boy  Blue — he  gotta  g$F*  And  San 
Lee  shivered.  "He  gotta  go — quick  I** 

He  left  her  then,  and  went  to  the  kitchen*  la 
the  evening  he  came  to  her  again. 

"He  too  quick  and  clever  for  Ah  Fat.  He  no 
trust  Ah  Fat.  He  watch  evehting  Ah  Fat  do.  Yoh 
poh  un'appy  father — he  got  no  way  to  mek  Big 
Boy  Blue  go.  But  li'l  Ah  San  Lee— Big  Boy 
Blue  no  watch  her  like  he  watch  Ah  Fat.  San  Lee, 
she  'elp  'er  ole  father?" 

San  Lee  stood  mute  under  the  steady  drip  of  his 
words. 

Next  day  he  spoke  again,  plaintively,  of  the 
trouble  that  Boy  Blue's  activities  implied  to  him; 
and  he  threw  out  hints  to  San  Lee ;  hints  that  filled 
her  with  horror  and  set  her  skin  tingling  with 
loathing.  Boy  Blue  was  her  prince — remote,  in- 
accessible, austere,  but  a  prince,  the  fact  of  whose 
existence  thrilled  her  with  rapture.  It  seemed  even 
presumption  on  her  part  to  attempt  to  shield  so 
noble  a  figure  from  danger;  but  she  attempted.  She 
pondered  how  to  give  him  warning,  but  Ah  Fat 
was  watchful.  "Huh!  Huh!  You  like-a  dissa 
Big  Boy  Blue,  huh?  So!"  Not  a  step  could  she 
take  from  the  kitchen;  no  chance  came  to  her  of 


176  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

passing  to  the  kindly  Ho  Ling,  who  had  long  de- 
sired her,  such  a  message  as  he  might  convey  to  Boy 
Blue. 

That  night,  when  she  had  again  and  flatly  re- 
fused to  carry  out  the  wishes  of  her  honourable 
father,  he  took  her  to  the  basement  beneath  the 
kitchen,  and  there,  for  some  hours,  he  employed 
certain  terrible  means  of  persuasion.  And  when 
he  carried  her  up,  bruised  and  torn,  she  was  pliant 
to  his  will.  He  was  not  accustomed  to  being 
thwarted. 

"So  nex*  time  Missa  Big  Boy  Blue  'e  come,  you 
know  watta  we  do,  huh?" 

And  San  Lee  implied  that  she  understood. 

Boy  Blue  continued  his  inquiries  and  spoke  to 
his  colleagues  of  their  fruit.  "I  shall  have  to  have 
another  chat  with  Mr.  Ah  Fat.  That  kid  of  his 
had  been  mighty  useful  to  me,  at  times.  He's  as 
cute  as  they  make  'em,  but  she's  like  a  baby.  She 
may  know  something  that'll  put  the  lid  on  him." 

So  at  ten  o'clock  the  next  Saturday  he  went  in 
plain  clothes  to  Mr.  Ah  Fat's  tea-room.  The  bars 
were  closing,  and  much  noise  beat  about  the  by- 
ways. The  rum-hounds  of  Limehouse  bayed  to  the 
moon.  Random  whiffs  of  chandoo  came  to  his  nose. 
He  made  a  note  of  the  house  whence  they  came, 
and  decided  to  see  to  it  to-morrow;  and  passed 
on  through  the  heavy,  dry  air  of  the  Quarter.  As 
lie  turned  into  Pennyfields,  Ah  Fat  was  watching 


BIG  BOY  BLUE  177 

from  his  window.  With  a  lumbering  but  swift 
movement  he  waddled  to  the  tea-room,  seized  a 
rod  of  split  bamboo,  and  stood  over  San  Lee. 

1  'E  come.  JE  come  to  damage  yoh  poh  father. 
You  'member  what  I  say?" 

She  nodded.  He  looked  at  her  doubtfully,  and 
brandished  the  bamboo;  then  moved  swiftly  to  the 
kitchen  and  made  hasty  preparation  for  the  com- 
ing of  Boy  Blue.  Then  he  called  San  Lee  to  the 
kitchen,  and  pointed  to  a  tray  on  which  stood  two 
cups.  He  shook  her  and  showed  her  the  cup  near- 
est the  edge  of  the  tray.  "Dissa  cup,  San  Lee. 
Dissa  cup,  O  affliction  to  a  miserable  father.  You 
savee?" 

San  Lee  nodded  with  blank  face,  gulping  and 
quivering,  and  Ah  Fat  folded  his  hands  and  also 
nodded.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  put  up  with  a  re- 
calcitrant child.  The  occasion  was  desperate  and 
called  for  extreme  action.  If  Boy  Blue  were  suc- 
cessful in  his  plan  for  breaking  his  power,  he  was 
wholly  undone.  He  could  no  longer  hold  his  head 
high  above  the  poor  wretches  of  storekeepers  and 
laundrymen  whose  names  stood  on  the  wrong  side 
of  his  account  leaves.  He  would  be  a  figure  for 
ridicule.  Men  would  doff  their  gravity  at  sight 
of  him.  He  would  be  abject.  Life  would  not  be 
worth  living.  It  must  not  happen.  Anything  be- 
fore  that.  It  should  not  happen.  He  was  careless 


178  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

of  all  other  consequences  if  he  could  avert  that 
supreme  disaster. 

As  the  lumbering  tread  of  Boy  Blue  was  heard 
on  the  stairs,  he  shook  her  again — "Dissa  cup, 
huh?" — released  her,  and  descended  to  the  cellar. 
When  Boy  Blue  entered  the  tea-room,  she  went  for- 
ward, following,  dazedly,  the  part  that  had  been 
se?  sharply  taught  hen  Even  as  she  walked,  Ah 
Fat  seemed  to  be  at  her  side,  and  his  dreadful  voice 
in  her  ear,  exacting  obedience  to  his  commands 
under  pain  of  sufferings  worse  than  death.  If  she 
failed  to  play  her  part,  if  she  warned  Boy  Blue  of 
his  danger,  torments  unbearable  lay  in  store  for 
her.  But  there  was  one  other  way  of  saving  him 
— a  way  which  she  could  face  with  even  mind. 

uHo,  good-ev-en-ing,  sir.  You  wan'  look  around? 
Ho  yess,  sir.  I  so  sorry  Misteh  Ah  Fat  Je  not- 
atome.  'E  be  in  veh  soon." 

Boy  Blue  looked  down  at  her  and  chuckled  her 
under  the  chin  with  a  large  hand.  "Right-o,  Angel- 
Face.  And  what's  the  latest  with  you,  eh?  I'll 
come  in  and  wait  for  Mr.  Ah  Fat."  He  loomed 
above  her  down  the  passage,  his  lounge  suit  as 
severe  as  armour  in  contrast  to  the  dumpling  figure 
in  slack  linen;  his  burly  boots  gigantic  alongside  the 
timid  list  slippers.  He  had  his  eyes  all  about  him, 
and  pushed  open  the  door  of  the  kitchen  and  looked 
round  it.  He  saw  nothing  to  disturb  him,  and  fol- 
lowed San  Lee  to  the  table  near  the  window.  She 


BIG  BOY  BLUE  179 

did  not  give  him  the  smiles  'and  head-wagging  which 
usually  greeted  his  persiflage,  but  he  paid  no  heed 
to  it,  beyond  remarking:  u What's  up,  kiddie?  Got 
the  fantoodleums?" 

"Ho  no,  misteh.  I  veh  tired.  You  like  li'l  suey 
sen,  sir?  You  take  cuppa  tea  with  me?" 

"Tea?  Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do.  A  slice j3J 
lemon  in  mine.  Then  if  you  shut  the  door  we  can 
have  a  quiet  li'l  talk,  eh?" 

"Ollight.    I  go  get  tea." 

She  went  into  the  kitchen  and  got  the  tray,  and 
got  a  glowering  look  from  the  face  of  Ah  Fat, 
which  was  level  with  the  top  of  the  cellar  stairs.  She 
returned  to  the  tea-room,  carrying  the  tray  with 
nice  care.  She  set  it  down  and  looked  behind  her 
to  the  kitchen.  From  the  street  came  throbs  of 
dark  sound,  above  which  climbed  the  lugubrious 
wail  of  a  fiddle  and  the  grinding  of  a  gramophone. 
She  stood  stolid  at  the  table.  Her  great  moment 
had  come.  Her  hero  was  in  danger  of  his  life,  and 
must  at  all  cost  be  saved.  She  alone — sweet  thought 
— could  save  him.  The  cellar  beneath  the  kitchen 
had  in  its  time  held  many  secrets,  but  it  should  not 
hold  Boy  Blue.  It  was  rapture  for  her,  this  mo- 
ment that  had  given  to  her  the  chance  of  rendering 
to  him  the  highest  of  all  service.  Covering  the 
tray  with  her  person,  she  took  a  piece  of  lemon 
from  a  plate  and  dropped  it  in  the  cup  that  stood 


180  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

in  the  middle  of  the  tray;  and  passed  the  cup  steadily 
to  her  guest. 

The  other  cup  she  took  herself,  and  sat  down 
opposite  Boy  Blue. 

"We  dlink  together,  sir.  As  yoh  gentlemen  say: 
I  look  towahds  you.  And  veh  soon  I  tell  you  some- 
thing useful." 

"Well,  cheerio,  kid." 

They  drank.  San  Lee  sat  calm,  her  eyes  fixed 
on  Boy  Blue.  He  noted  the  steady  gaze,  and,  know- 
ing the  Chinks,  let  her  take  her  own  time  for  dis- 
closing what  she  had  to  disclose.  But  she  was  only 
trying  to  tell  him  through  her  eyes  that  she  was 
glad,  and  that  in  a  moment  he  would  have  a  clear 
case  against  Ah  Fat.  She  took  another  mouthful 
from  the  cup,  and  felt  free  to  speak,  for  she  knew 
that  she  was  going  beyond  the  reach  of  any  human 
persecution.  But  when  she  opened  her  mouth  she 
found  she  could  not  speak.  No  matter.  Boy  Blue 
would  soon  discover  the  truth  for  himself. 

As  she  felt  the  sudden  sharp  pains  stabbing  her 
limbs,  and  the  cold  damp  upon  her  face,  happiness 
beyond  words  was  hers.  She  had  given  all  that  she 
had  to  give  to  her  valiant  prince,  and  great  was  the 
joy  of  giving.  Her  head  drooped,  for  it  was  very 
heavy;  but  she  felt  that  his  eyes  were  upon  her,  and 
felt  them  as  a  parting  benediction,  a  Nunc  dimittis. 

Until,  with  an  effort,  she  raised  her  head  to  meet 
his  glance,  and  saw  his  face.  In  his  eyes  was  a  look 


BIG  BOY  BLUE  181 

of  awful  questioning.  His  face  was  as  marble- 
white  as  hers.  Sweat  stood  in  beads  upon  his  skin. 
As  the  room  glimmered  about  her  and  the  walls 
approached  and  receded,  the  last  look  that  she  re- 
ceived from  her  hero  was  one  of  unutterable  and  un- 
quenchable hatred.  Ere  he  collapsed,  he  seized  the 
cup  he  had  received  from  her  hands  and  flung  it  full 
at  her. 

Ah  Fat,  being  no  sport,  and  taking  no  chance  with 
undutifuL  daughters,  had  poisoned  both  cups. 


MAZURKA 


MAZURKA 

CHRISSIE  RAINBOW  stood  on  the  balcony 
of  her  tenement  home  and  looked  down  upon 
the  evening  life  of  Limehouse.  In  the  warm  sap- 
phire dusk  even  the  vociferant  dock-side  lay 
hushed,  expectant;  and  footsteps  crackled  like  fire- 
works. Clusters  of  boys  and  girls  hung  at  street 
corners,  chatting  and  softly  giggling.  Yellow  men 
paired  with  silent,  ogling  females,  and  swam  into 
quiet  by-ways.  Hard-faced  women  collared  simple 
sailors.  Malays  hovered  and  desired,  not  daring 
to  pounce. 

Then  the  big  lamp  outside  the  Blue  Lantern  was 
lit,  and  lights  appeared  behind  its  many  windows, 
and  an  organ  stopped  at  its  doors,  and  sprayed 
the  neighbourhood  with  a  rapid  fire  of  rag-time. 
Its  bright  summons  set  young  feet  a-tapping  and 
old  heads  a-wagging,  and  into  the  gas-lit  circle 
moved  flaring  hats  and  wide-grinning  faces.  The 
great  sea  of  roofs  that  swept  out  to  Essex  began 
to  twinkle  with  luminous  points,  and  all-night  fac- 
tories made  gashes  of  light  across  the  distant  gloom. 

185 


186  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

As  the  twilight  deepened  to  night  the  loungers  be- 
gan to  pull  themselves  together  and  to  make  cer- 
tain movements  towards  substantial  entertainment. 
The  two  music  halls,  shrinking  behind  their  bold 
veils  of  light,  flung  open  their  doors  to  a  clamant 
crowd  of  seekers  after  mirth.  The  cinemas  were 
"now  showing,"  vehemently,  Lillian  Gish  and 
Nazimova. 

The  organ  stopped  its  ragging.  Chrissie  heard 
its  rasping  wheels  bear  it  away,  and  with  its  pass- 
ing the  motley  murmur  of  the  crowd  again  vexed  her 
ears  with  its  uneasy  calm.  For  some  minutes  she 
stood  thus,  drawing  to  herself  the  breath  of  the 
city.  Then  from  the  little  Chinese  cafe  at  the 
corner  of  King's  Street  came  a  sudden  burst  of  music, 
as  its  latest  attraction,  a  penny-in-the-slot  piano, 
clattered  its  way  through  a  new  record — the 
Mazurka  from  Coppella. 

Straight  through  the  open  window  to  her  it  came, 
riding  joyously,  insolently,  above  the  purring  street; 
and  it  captured  the  idle  half  of  her  mind,  and  she 
found  herself  smiling  in  welcome  to  it !  The  chorus 
songs  of  the  street  she  knew,  and  the  organ  music 
which  had  just  passed;  and  felt  at  no  time  any 
litheness  of  limb  to  their  rhythms.  But  here  was 
something  novel;  charged  with  colour  and  various 
melody,  and  rippling  with  lightness  of  heart  and 
holiday;  something  strange  to  her,  yet  made  to  her 
own  heart's  measure.  It  carried  to  her  an  invitation 


MAZURKA  187 

as  flagrant  as  the  nod  and  beck  of  a  passing  reveller 
at  carnival.  It  disturbed  her  and  set  her  in  effer- 
vescence. The  tired,  purposeless  crowd  below  took 
on  colour  for  her  eyes;  she  saw  them  at  revels. 
And  while  the  saucy,  provocative  phrases  of  the 
Mazurka  stirred  her  heart  to  petulance,  her  skin 
tingled  with  delight,  vibrating  to  them. 

And,  suddenly,  she  wanted  to  be  out — just  Out: 
anywhere  with  the  crowd,  touching  fingers  or  brush- 
ing shoulders  with  people ;  looking  into  other  faces, 
and  mixing  and  exchanging  emotions.  It  teased 
her  with  its  message.  She  wanted  to  throw  herself 
into  this  London  and  become  one  with  it  and  part 
of  it.  Like  a  caged  bird  she  stood,  her  breast  against 
the  bars  of  the  balcony,  her  arms  outstretched  to 
the  great  plain  of  London.  Blunt  of  face,  and 
without  colour,  she  yet  held  charm  in  her  figure. 
Sturdy  and  pliant  as  a  young  tree  she  stood,  her 
frock  blown,  her  limbs  rippling  to  the  music,  her 
face  rapt.  Twice  the  mechanical  contraption  went 
through  the  new  record,  while  she  stood  and  longed 
and  bubbled  with  foolish  smiles. 

With  an  impudently  triumphant  flourish  it  fin- 
ished, and  she  turned  slowly  away  to  her  room. 
In  the  chill  halfgloom  of  the  summer  night,  it 
looked  mean  and  fusty  and  bare.  She  discovered 
a  sudden  disgust  of  it  and  its  petty  appointments. 
She  moved  about  it.  She  picked  up  a  book,  and 
threw  it  down.  She  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 


188  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

She  got  up  and  straightened  an  ornament  on  the 
mantelshelf.  She  again  took  up  the  book.  But 
her  mind  was  outside.  She  was  listening  to  the 
crisp  gossip  of  young  feet  to  the  pavement.  She 
was  seeing  the  long  Barking  Road — all  breeze  and 
glare  and  glitter  of  lamps  and  shop  windows.  She 
was  seeing  the  happy  encounters  of  boy  and  girl; 
and  she  felt  the  odour  of  lilac  floating  from  the 
public  gardens.  The  streets  were  breathing  softly, 
closely,  wooing  her.  The  Mazurka  still  simmered 
within  her. 

Until  to-night  her  evenings  had  followed  a 
changeless  routine.  Home  from  the  factory — wash 
— a  meal  of  some  tinned  food  and  tea — necessary 
repairs  to  garments — then  a  book  of  some  educa- 
tional course — and  bed.  By  her  fellows  at  the  fac- 
tory she  was  voted  slow.  Miss  Stuck-up  was  her 
name  there.  "Look  at  The  Stuck-up  going  'ome 
to  keep  'erself  Pure!"  uWe  ain't  good  enough  for 
the  chaste  Stuck-up  I"  All  their  invitations  to 
"evenings"  and  "crawls,"  to  "  'ave  a  bit  on,"  she 
declined;  and  when,  on  the  pavement  outside  the 
factory,  the  girls  stood  in  chattering  groups,  to 
argue  the  evening's  indulgence,  she  would  slip 
through  them  and  away,  followed  by  muttered  ob- 
scenities. To  all  their  gibes  she  had  one  reply — 
an  exasperating  smile  of  self-sufficiency. 

But  to-night  she  could  not  rest;  she  was  not 
company  for  herself.  The  benignant  dusk,  the 


MAZURKA  189 

crooning  of  the  summer  evening,  and  the  bright 
challenge  of  the  Mazurka  had  entered  her  blood. 
Solitude  now  distressed  her.  She  longed  to  be  in  the 
life  that  was  all  about  her.  She  longed  to  be  ac- 
cepted by  the  crowd,  and  to  be  one  of  it;  and  sud- 
denly she  rose  from  the  bed,  snatched  her  hat,  and 
adjusted  it  at  a  rakish  angle.  With  a  few  deft 
touches  she  smoothed  the  poor  cotton  frock;  then, 
with  thrilling  pulses,  she  ran  down  the  stone  stairs 
to  the  street,  and  surrendered  herself  to  the  crowd. 

She  was  Out.  Cleverly  she  copied  the  saunter 
of  the  other  girls:  the  swinging  arms,  the  swirling 
frock,  the  roving  eye.  In  the  high  charm  of  her 
fifteen  years  she  strode.  Her  thin  brown  hair 
flowed  about  her  shoulders,  and  the  swift  lines  of 
her  limber  legs  curved  aptly  from  pendulous  skirt 
to  natty  shoe.  She  was  prepared  now  to  accept 
all  things,  and  to  find  greater  joy  in  the  common 
street.  She  needed  not  to-night  the  rarefied  atmos- 
phere in  which  she  had  hitherto  held  herself  from 
contact  with  the  mob.  She  had  come  down  off 
her  perch,  and  was  now  warm  and  fluent. 

But  the  street  made  no  demonstration  at  her 
condescension.  None  looked  twice  at  her.  The 
East  End  boy  looks  only  for  faces;  if  they  be  not 
pretty,  all  other  charms  are  without  virtue.  She 
searched  here  and  there  for  some  of  her  work- 
fellows.  They  were  certainly  "out,"  amusing  them- 
selves somewhere,  and  it  would  be  pleasant  to  join 


190  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

them.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  be  popular  with 
them.  They  would  perhaps  find  her  a  boy,  who 
would  walk  with  her  and  take  her  arm;  for  she 
thought  that  she  wanted  a  boy  to  walk  out  with  and 
talk  with.  Really,  she  wanted  to  talk  with  London 
and  be  friends  with  it. 

Up  and  down  the  street  she  strolled,  but  saw 
no  familiar  face,  nor  any  that  sought  to  make  itself 
known.  Tiring  after  four  turns,  she  went  to  the 
Tunnel  Gardens;  and  here  she  boldly  invited  with 
feet  and  eyes.  A  few  lads  looked  at  her,  but  with 
sniggers  and  ribald  comment.  These  were  the 
knowing  ones,  who  chose  carefully.  "Pasty-face!" 
was  the  welcome  she  got  from  them.  Other  lads 
looked  at  her  without  remark,  but  these  were  the 
bashful,  the  inexperienced,  who  did  not  know  how 
to  force  an  introduction;  novices,  like  herself. 

But  at  the  farther  gate  of  the  Gardens  she  found 
Adventure.  Mr.  Sam  Ling  Lee,  in  straw  hat, 
brown  boots  and  store  suit,  was  leaning  against  a 
railing,  twirling  a  whangee  cane.  His  face  was 
placid,  his  appearance  highly  respectable;  and  he 
seemed  lonely.  She  came  to  him  and  passed  him 
with  a  flutter  of  frock,  and  gave  him  a  long,  ex- 
pressive look.  He  smiled.  Some  paces  away,  she 
looked  back.  He  was  still  looking.  She  stopped 
at  the  railings,  and  smiled.  He  came  to  her. 

Well,  they  walked  out  of  the  gardens  towards 
Pennyfields.  Great  elation  was  hers,  and  her  little 


MAZURKA  191 

lips  were  pursed  tightly  to  hold  back  the  smile  that 
would  have  lodged  there.  She  was  living.  She 
had  Got  Off.  She  was  no  longer  to  be  sneered  at 
as  the  Stuck-up,  the  timid.  She  could  cut  a  dash 
as  well  as  anyone  else.  Mr.  Sam  Ling  Lee,  too, 
was  proud.  A  white  girl  had  given  him  the  glad  eye, 
and  was  coming  to  Pennyfields  to  take  a  cup  of 
tohah  and  to  eat  with  him. 

At  the  tea-house  of  the  Golden  Chrysanthemum 
they  sat  at  a  marble  table;  and  she  drank  tea  and 
ate  little  cakes,  and  thrilled  to  his  quaint  accent 
the  turns  of  speech.  And  he  leaned  across  the 
table  and  pressed  her  hand,  and  she  returned  the 
squeeze.  And  he  told  her,  by  many  difficult  words, 
that  he  knew  the  keeper  of  the  tea-house,  and  that 
there  was  a  nice  quiet  room  upstairs  where  they 
could  sit  and  talk.  And  he  would  like  to  sit  and  talk 
with  her. 

So  they  went  upstairs. 

It  was  past  public-house  closing-time  when  she 
came  down.  She  stepped  into  Pennyfields,  narrow, 
dark  and  deserted,  and  her  light  shoes  made  clear 
staccato  sounds.  She  walked  dreamily.  Her  eyes 
were  heavy.  But  there  was  a  warmth  and  fullness 
about  her  face  that  was  new,  and  that  became  her. 
She  carried  herself  with  confidence.  She  was  a 
woman.  The  others  could  no  longer  swank  before 
her.  She  knew. 

Then,    as    she    turned    into   West    India    Dock 


192  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Road,  the  darkness  screamed  at  her.  Snarls  and 
growls  and  cat-calls  met  her,  and  vile  words  leapt 
upon  her.  And  suddenly  she  was  surrounded  by 
a  dozen  of  her  work-fellows.  Too  dazed  by  the 
attack  to  speak,  she  shrank  away.  But  they  were  on 
all  sides:  horrid  faces  and  writhing  lips  that  spat 
beastly  things  at  her.  The  full  significance  of  the 
situation  scarcely  reached  her  at  the  moment.  It 
was  an  attack;  that  was  all  she  could  clearly  under- 
stand; and  she  turned  blindly  to  break  through 
them  and  run.  And  as  she  turned,  one  pushed  her 
between  the  shoulders,  and  she  stumbled  against 
another  who  pushed  her  back.  Dumb,  except  for 
sobs,  she  waited,  terrified,  in  their  midst;  and  they 
encircled  her  with  stretched  arms  and  pointed 
fingers;  and  she  stood  breasting  a  ring  of  living 
spears. 

Then  they  joined  hands,  and  danced  about  her 
with  a  song: 

"Who  got  orf  with  a  Chink? 

Who  got  orf  with  a  Chink? 

She  did! 

She  did! 

SHE  DID! 

Yah!" 

And  from  point  to  point  of  the  circle  she  was 
pushed  and  hustled  and  bunted  like  a  sack,  until 
she  dropped. 

Then,  clamorously,  they  indicted  her:    "There's 


MAZUKKA  193 

yer  quiet  ones !  There's  yer  pure  work-girl.  There's 
yer  Stuck-up!  Corn  with  a  Chink!  Ugh,  the 
dirty  cat!  That's  all  that  would  'ave  'er,  I  suppose. 
Ugh,  the  dirty  bitch!"  They  let  her  go  then,  and 
went  off  in  a  grinning,  giggling  mass,  chanting  to 
the  night: 

"Chrissie  Rainbow's  bin  with  a  Chink 
Yah!    Yah!    Yah!" 

Slowly  she  crawled  to  her  feet,  and  slowly  she 
crawled  home,  numb,  sobbing,  stricken.  It  was 
spring  no  more.  The  scent  of  flowers  was  gone. 
The  air  was  heavy  with  the  religious  odour  of 
fried  fish.  There  was  no  more  of  colour  and 
revelry  and  happy  street  life.  She  looked  upon  the 
every-night  Limehouse,  and  saw  grey  streets,  gruff 
buildings,  ragged  roofs  and  walls,  tram-cars,  buses, 
dark  pubs,  and  ugly,  dolorous  noise.  And  as  she 
staggered  into  her  room,  and  collapsed  upon  her  bed, 
an  uglier  noise  broke  forth  below,  and  a  damned 
jingling,  hiccuping,  penny-in-the-slot  piano  gibed  and 
reviled  her  with  the  Mazurka  from  Coppelia* 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES 


—  XIII  — 
THE  SCARLET  SHOES 

SORROWFUL  are  the  streets  of  Limehouse  by 
day;  crowded  with  purposeless  noise  and  cold, 
unfruitful  endeavour.  But  the  evening  is  kind  to 
them,  and  with  the  coming  of  the  dark  they  are  set 
a-tinkling*  with  brilliant  girl-laughter,  and  the  moon 
lends  grace  to  the  most  forlorn  by-way. 

About  these  streets  and  lanes  walked  one  time 
San-li-po,  a  maiden  of  the  land  of  water-liles,  whose 
patched  garments  of  yellow  cotton,  with  cheap  em- 
broidery enriched,  gave  vigour  to  the  flat  tones  of 
warehouse  walls  and  hovels.  Willowy  and  dew- 
like  was  San-li-po,  but  seldom  did  her  laughter  swell 
the  happy  twilight  chorus.  Not  since  babyhood 
had  her  lips  opened  in  merriment,  for  there  was 
little  in  her  life  to  warm  her  heart  to  satisfaction. 
A  waif,  born  in  the  Pool  on  an  incoming  tramp, 
and  abandoned  to  the  clustering  alleys,  she  had 
found  her  first  shelter  with  the  wicked  Lee  Yip,  and 
with  him,  because  she  was  in  a  strange  land  and 
knew  of  no  other  shelter,  she  had  remained  these 
seventeen  years.  Hard  and  cheerless  was  her  life 
with  him;  nor  could  the  animated  streets  give  her 

197 


198  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

even  a  reflection  of  their  gladness.  The  white  men 
mocked  at  her  moon-like  face;  her  countrymen  re- 
garded her  not  while  they  might  feed  their  eyes 
with  the  beauty  of  white  girls. 

Lee  Yip  was  a  man  of  low  mind  and  empty  of 
all  good  feeling.  All  he  desired  was  sufficiency  of 
rice-spirit  and  ongaway,  and,  despite  all  his  forlorn 
shifts  and  subterfuges,  never  could  he  fully  satisfy 
that  desire.  His  nights  were  spent  in  drinking; 
his  days  in  petulant  consideration  of  ways  and  means 
of  procuring  the  night's  indulgence.  Dirt  and  rags 
were  proper  to  him,  and  he  seemed  to  shed  their 
savour  wherever  he  walked;  so  that  refined  and 
polished  keepers  of  stores  and  of  registered  lodg- 
ing-houses, coming  suddenly  upon  him,  would  pass 
him  with  as  much  space  between  them  as  could  be 
achieved.  One  room  he  had  over  the  Laundry  of 
the  Pure  White  Water-Lily ;  and  in  that  room  lived 
he  and  San-li-po.  To  it  he  would  sometimes  bring 
stranded  Chinese  seamen  of  the  baser  kind,  who 
would  not  pay  the  price  of  the  registered  lodging- 
houses,  but  could  give  him,  in  return  for  his  shelter, 
the  few  cash  that  would  buy  rice-spirit;  and  San- 
li-po  would  crouch  unhappily  upon  her  pallet  in  the 
corner,  and  sleep  fearfully  in  this  room  with  four 
or  five  drunken  seamen. 

But  it  is  with  one  night  in  winter  that  we  are 
Itere  concerned;  the  night  when  sweet  adventure 
came  to  his  sad  room  and  stretched  radiant  hands 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  199 

towards  San-li-po.  At  a  late  hour  on  this  night, 
Lee  Yip  made  his  accustomed  entry  to  their  abode, 
fumbling  and  shouldering  his  way  up  the  stairs,  and 
emitting  nasty  noises  from  his  mouth.  San-li-po, 
hearing  other  footsteps  yet  on  the  stairs,  stood  by 
the  table  with  blank  expression,  ready  to  receive 
the  wretched  fellows  who  alone  would  consort  with 
her  guardian. 

And  lo !  there  entered  to  her  Wing  Dee,  a  youth 
of  fair  aspect  and  seemly  demeanour.  His  hair 
was  heavily  oiled.  His  eyes  were  reticent.  He 
held  himself  upright  in  his  canvas  jacket  and  canvas 
trousers,  and  when  he  perceived  San-li-po,  his  round 
face  glowed  like  a  lit  lantern.  He  did  not  slouch 
to  a  corner,  with  pig-like  sounds,  as  their  other 
guests:  he  passed  compliments  to  her;  asked  if  she 
had  eaten  her  rice;  and  continued,  using  a  courteous 
form  of  phrase  above  the  requirements  of  the  oc- 
casion : 

"This  person  is  mortified  at  the  inconvenience 
which  he  fears  his  undignified  presence  in  this  truly 
refined  apartment  will  bring  upon  the  honourable 
and  flower-like  maiden  to  whom  he  addresses  him- 
self. He  would  not  have  ventured,  but " 

He  was  interrupted  at  this  point  by  Lee  Yip^ 
who  had  spoken  no  word  since  his  entrance,  be- 
cause he  could  not.  With  a  gentle  sway  he  slid 
along  the  wall  against  which  he  had  been  leaning, 
and  fell  in  an  untidy  heap  to  the  floor  and  slept. 


200  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Wing  Dee  looked  at  him  and  at  San-li-po,  and  trou- 
ble came  into  his  face;  then,  ignoring  the  interrup- 
tion, he  continued  his  courteous  address.  Now  these 
were  the  first  polished  words  that  any  visitor  had 
addressed  to  San-li-po,  and  she  shivered  with  de- 
light as  she  heard  them,  while  wondering  griev- 
ously whether  the  apparently  gentle  youth  was  sub- 
jecting her  to  ridicule.  But  as  he  continued  to 
speak,  she  knew  that  this  was  not  so,  and  her  heart 
leapt;  and  she  hastened  to  prepare  food  for  the 
honourable  guest. 

With  Lee  Yip  in  his  drunken  sleep,  they  were 
virtually  alone,  this  man  and  this  maid,  and  much 
joyful  service  did  she  give  to  the  making  of  that 
poor  meal  which  they  were  to  share;  the  cook 
of  the  highest  mandarin  could  not  have  pressed 
more  care  upon  a  banquet  of  forty  courses  than  she 
on  two  dishes  of  yak  min  and  sam  se.  The  eyes 
of  Wing  Dee  were  upon  her  as  she  worked,  and 
now  and  then  she  caught  them  with  hers,  and  into 
the  dishes  went  a  sweet  flavouring  that  was  made 
from  the  mixing  of  their  glances. 

When  her  task  was  done,  they  two  sat  to  eat 
in  bashful  intimacy;  and  while  Lee  Yip  snored  on 
the  floor,  Wing  Dee  made  neat  praise  of  the  dishes* 
and  smiled  upon  the  lips  of  San-li-po  that  made 
their  first  shy  efforts  at  opening  in  delight.  Sweet 
lips  that  never  formed  a  lie;  that  moved  only  to 
gentle  syllables  and  pleading  phrases!  Grave  eyes 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  201 

wherein  nestled  meditations  pure  and  kindly !  Gra- 
cious hands,  busy  only  in  service  to  the  beast  in  the 
corner!  Poor,  tattered  clothes,  so  thin  and  worn, 
yet  clothing  so  aptly  that  small  figure  that  should 
have  gone  in  silk  and  lace !  Thoughts  of  the  Great 
Night  Lantern  above  fair  gardens  came  to  Wing 
Dee  as  he  gazed  his  fill  upon  her  until  she  burned 
and  shivered  and  looked  only  at  the  table,  and  as 
he  wondered  about  her  and  about  the  room  and 
the  pig  who  had  brought  him  here;  and  his  face 
became  suffused  with  the  divine  humility  that  at 
once  shames  and  ennobles  the  youth  in  the  presence 
of  his  first  maid.  She  spoke  little  to  him  save 
single  timid  words  in  reply  to  his  compliments ;  but 
something  more  potent  than  words  passed  between 
them. 

After  the  meal,  she  pointed  to  a  corner,  and  to 
it  he  retired  and  she  went  to  her  pallet.  Sleep 
came  at  once  to  her,  and  with  it  gracious  adventures 
with  a  fair  and  high-minded  youth;  but  Wing  Dee 
lay  awake  through  the  long  night  and  the  velvet 
voice  of  silence  murmured  from  the  darkness  and 
spoke  beautiful  words  to  him.  He  thought  of  his 
own  country;  of  rivers;  of  stars;  of  blossomtime; 
of  a  goodly  house  with  many  servants,  and  of  San- 
li-po  in  costly  raiment  flitting  about  it.  Then  the 
grey  of  the  morning  fell  across  the  coloured  dream, 
and  he  hid  it  away  in  his  heart.  He  awoke  to  the 
rough  room,  and  Lee  Yip's  beastly  noise.  He  rose 


202  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

from  the  chill  boards  and  looked  out  upon  the  sun- 
less street  and  its  fatigued  activity.  He  looked  at 
the  sodden  face  of  Lee  Yip,  and  shuddered.  To- 
wards the  corner  where  lay  San-li-po  his  heart  for- 
bade him  to  look,  though  great  was  his  desire  to 
go  to  her,  and  place  by  her  pallet  goodly  gifts  of 
warm  silk.  But  he  knew  that  he  had  scarce  suffi- 
cient money  to  procure  food  for  the  space  of  days 
that  must  elapse  before  the  ship  that  had  engaged 
him  left  London.  Even  the  poorest  offering  was 
beyond  him,  for  a  chance  game  of  Peh  Bin  had 
cleared  him  of  the  bulk  of  his  wages,  and  it  was 
in  that  impoverished  and  remorseful  condition  that 
Lee  Yip  had  found  him. 

Suddenly,  at  a  movement  and  a  grunt  from  Lee 
Yop,  San-li-po  awoke.  Hastily  gathering  her  robe 
about  her,  she  exchanged  morning  greetings  with 
Wing  Dee,  and  served  out  a  small  portion  of  rice 
to  each  of  them.  When  it  was  eaten  he  turned  to 
go.  He  passed  to  the  mumbling  and  still  bemused 
Lee  Yip  the  number  of  coins  previously  arranged 
between  them  as  the  price  of  his  lodging,  and  moved 
to  the  door.  He  made  a  gesture  of  courtesy  to- 
wards San-li-po. 

"This  illiterate  person,"  he  said,  "is  totally  with- 
out words  with  which  to  express  his  intense  gratitude 
for  the  refined  and  elegant  entertainment  which  he 
has  received  from  his  dignified  and  high-minded 
friends." 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  203 

He  hesitated  at  the  door.  He  looked  back.  And 
lo !  San-li-po  was  staring  at  him  with  rigid  features 
and  blank  eyes.  Maiden  modesty  was  no  longer 
in  her  bearing:  her  face  spoke  yearning  and  regret. 

She  knew  nothing  of  him,  nor  he  of  her.  He 
had  come  to  them  out  of  the  night.  He  had  looked 
long  upon  her,  and  had  spoken  fair  words  to  her. 
But  that  was  all.  Whence  he  came,  whither  he 
was  going,  she  knew  not;  nor  could  she  decently 
ask  of  him  these  questions.  His  movements  were 
no  concern  of  hers.  Doubtless  he  had  spoken 
courteously  and  kindly  towards  her,  because  he 
was  sorry  for  her  situation.  Yet,  having  had  this 
little  of  him,  she  was  anxious  that  he  should  give 
more. 

"Honourable  guest  going — going  away?"  she 
murmured,  and  stopped  with  half-open  lips,  as 
though  about  to  say  more. 

Wing  Dee  caught  the  restrained  fervour  of  her 
voice,  and  rejoiced  that  she  should  thus  have  spoken. 
So  would  he  have  spoken  his  regret  at  parting;  yet 
dared  not. 

"If  this  insignificant  person  might  come  again 

to-night "  he  began,  looking  at  her  and  Lee 

Yip. 

Lee  Yip  nodded  his  tattered  head  vigorously. 
"Come  every  night,"  he  grunted.  "For  the  few 
cash  which  this  person  charges  for  his  lodging, 
poor  as  it  is,  Wing  Dee  cannot  find  better.  Ao  I" 


204  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

So  he  came  again  that  night,  and,  after  leaving 
the  house  the  following  morning,  he  met  San-li-po 
in  the  streets.  There,  at  a  corner  of  West  India 
Dock  Road,  they  talked.  They  told  each  other  their 
stories.  With  awkward  glances  and  shy  hesitancies, 
with  gushes  of  speech  and  cold  blocks  of  silence, 
they  exchanged  talk  for  about  an  hour,  each  de- 
lighting in  this  sudden  meeting,  each  fearful  of 
saying  too  much.  They  parted  abruptly,  rudely,  as 
is  the  way  of  boy  and  girl  in  first  love.  But  when 
they  were  gone  on  their  way,  they  knew  that  each 
was  the  other's  friend  for  ever,  and  great  was  the 
desire  of  Wing  Dee  to  lift  San-li-po  across  his 
threshold;  great  the  desire  of  San-li-po  to  receive 
the  Napi  of  Wing  Dee. 

Four  nights  he  spent  as  their  lodger;  and  joy 
illumined  that  musty  room,  and  sweetness  passed 
in  the  air  and  hovered  about  the  table  as  they  sat 
at  rice.  All  things  became  beautiful  to  him.  He 
found  delight  in  the  narrow  alley  where  she  lired; 
and  its  stones  were  to  him  more  holy  than  the  stones 
of  the  temple.  These  strange  streets  were  all  part 
of  her,  and  she  was  part  of  the  streets  and  the 
hard  sky  and  the  ships;  and  the  mean  life  of  China- 
town became  to  him  suddenly  noble  and  desirable: 
for  it  was  the  life  she  knew.  His  immediate  wish 
was  to  remove  her  from  the  beast  in  whose  charge 
she  was  held,  but  the  wish,  he  knew,  was  futile. 
Hatred  and  loathing  seethed  in  his  heart  as  he 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  205 

thought  upon  the  things  that  the  maid  had  told  him, 
and  he  longed  again  to  lay  violent  fingers  upon  the 
wry  neck  of  Lee  Yip. 

At  the  end  of  the  week,  much  thought  showed 
him  the  way  to  his  desire.  He  would  not  rejoin 
his  ship.  He  would  stay  in  Limehouse  and  work 
at  any  toil,  however  base,  until  he  had  saved  enough 
money  to  carry  them  both  to  his  own  country. 
There  they  would  marry,  and  he  would  settle  on 
his  father's  farm  and  work  it  for  her  delight.  To 
this  plan  he  moved,  and,  after  some  disappointment 
and  much  perseverance,  he  obtained  employment, 
and  employment  in  the  Laundry  of  the  Pure  Water- 
White  Lily,  above  which  she  lived.  By  sparse  liv- 
ing and  a  little  fortunate  gambling,  he  contrived  to 
gather  and  hold  a  few  coins;  then,  delicate  of  feel- 
ing, he  slept  no  more  in  her  room,  but  obtained 
lodging  in  a  neighbouring  Oriental  store  where  he 
might  still  be  near  her,  and  in  any  mischance, 
succor  her. 

Each  night,  when  his  work  was  done,  and  the 
fat  Lee  Yip  had  gone  forth  to  seek  delight  in  the 
saloons  and  beer-houses  about  the  waterside,  he 
would  go  to  San-li-po,  and  they  would  spend  to- 
gether some  delicious  hours. 

"O  San-li-po,  your  voice  is  to  me  as  the  bells  of 
the  Great  Temple,  and  you  are  a  garden  where  I 
gather  the  most  dignified  rest  and  refreshment. 
Soon,  O  San-li-po,  I  shall  take  you  home  to  your 


206  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

country  that  you  have  never  seen,  and  there  by  my 
side  you  will  taste  pleasures  of  which  you  have 
never  learnt." 

UO  Wing  Dee,  lord  and  master,  your  words  are 
more  intoxicating  to  me  than  the  most  rare  per- 
fumes. I  am  your  slave." 

As  the  hour  grew  late,  he  would  leave  her,  and 
wait  in  the  West  India  Dock  Road  for  the  home- 
coming of  her  drunken  protector.  When  he  saw 
him  bringing  other  drunkards  to  sleep  in  that  room 
with  his  chrysanthemum,  he  would  approach  the 
sailors  stealthily,  and  draw  them  apart  from  their 
staggering  guide ;  and  would  put  it  to  them  whether 
it  were  not  entirely  more  desirable  that  they  should 
spend  the  night  in  his  clean  room  without  charge 
than  that  they  should  pay  valuable  coins  to  the 
drunken  Lee  Yip  for  the  privilege  of  sleeping  in 
the  underground  den  infested  with  rats  and  drain- 
water,  to  which  he  was  conducting  them.  By  his 
knowledge  and  use  of  sailor  signs  he  was  quickly 
able  to  convince  them  of  evil  reputation  of  Lee  Yip. 
So  that  this  person,  arriving  at  the  door  leading  to 
his  room,  would  be  seized  by  vague  astonishment 
and  sharp  anger  on  finding  that  the  guests  who  had 
been  following  him  had  melted  away;  and  San-li-po, 
waiting  upstairs,  would  be  rid  of  her  disquieting 
tremors,  and,  smiling  at  her  lover's  ruse,  would  sleep 
tranquilly. 

Now  it  was  not  long  before  Wing  Dee  possessed 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  207 

sufficient  cash  to  permit  him  to  make  his  first  gift 
of  intentions  to  San-li-po.  After  much  scrutiny  of 
shop  windows,  he  saw  something  that  was  within 
his  means  and  fitting  to  the  occasion.  At  a  shop 
near  Limehouse  Church  his  eye  was  taken  by  a  hot 
splash  of  colour — a  pair  of  slippers  of  scarlet  silk, 
made  surely  for  the  dainty  feet  of  his  maid.  Long 
he  looked  upon  them,  while  delicious  thrills  tickled 
his  heart.  They  were  to  be  the  first  gift  he  had 
ever  made  to  a  girl,  and  they  were  to  symbolise 
his  worship  of  little  San-li-po,  and  set  a  glowing 
seal  upon  their  friendship.  He  looked  upon  the 
warm,  suave  silk  that  sheathed  them,  and  the  little 
pert  bows  that  embellished  them,  and  saw  them 
upon  her  feet,  peeping  from  the  patched  cotton 
robe,  and  thought  how  they  would  chime  with  and 
confirm  her  olive  face  and  golden  eyes.  Then,  with 
happy  assurance,  he  entered  the  shop  and  cere- 
moniously paid  the  price  that  should  secure  them. 
Close  to  his  heart  he  held  them  as  he  walked  home, 
and  they  seemed  to  pass  through  the  canvas  of  his 
coat  and  glow  against  his  breast  and  lend  him 
warmth. 

That  evening,  when  they  were  alone,  he  made 
his  offering.  He  took  them  from  the  rough  paper 
in  which  they  were  wrapped,  and  standing  before 
her,  he  covered  them  with  kisses  and  breathed  his 
sweet  heart  into  him.  Then,  while  she  trilled  de- 
lightedly to  him,  he  placed  them  tenderly  upon  her 


208  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

feet.  Immediately  she  arose  and  pirouetted  before 
him,  and  pattered  up  and  down  the  bare  floor  of 
her  home,  and  could  look  only  from  the  shoes  to 
her  lover  and  from  her  lover  to  the  shoes;  until 
at  last  she  tripped  into  the  half-circle  of  his  arms 
and  he  knew  that  glory  had  been  vouchsafed  him. 
Gladly  she  came  to  him,  and  sweetly  danced  the 
hours  of  that  evening  around  them. 

Now  vigorously  and  sturdily  he  worked  in  the 
laundry,  urged  by  the  imperious  patter  of  little 
scarlet  feet  on  the  floor  above  him,  tapping  out 
messages  of  behest  and  encouragement.  None 
moved  about  so  spryly  as  he.  None  washed  and 
starched  with  such  industry  and  such  accompaniment 
of  smiles  and  polished  address.  The  lamp  of  his 
soul  which  he  had  long  kept  so  neatly  trimmed  was 
now  lighted  by  love,  and  shone  through  his  blunt  face 
for  all  to  see.  So  life  went  fairly  for  them  for 
many  days. 

Then  trouble  came.  One  midnight,  as  he  watched 
near  the  poor  temple  of  his  lady,  Lee  Yip  ap- 
proached, and  with  him  were  three  dishevelled 
water-rats.  Lee  Yip  was  drunk,  and  reeled;  turn- 
ing now  and  again  to  beckon  his  guests  to  follow 
him,  and  reeling  at  every  turn.  Swiftly  Wing  Dee 
noted  the  situation;  and  as  they  drew  near  he 
slipped  from  his  hiding  place  and  crept  between 
host  and  guests.  Turning  to  the  seamen,  he  mut- 
tered a  seaman's  greeting,  gave  them  a  sign  of 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  209 

warning,  and  hustled  them  into  an  alley-way.  There 
he  told  them,  with  prodigal  embellishment  of  fact, 
of  the  offensive  hovel  to  which  Lee  Yip  was  taking 
them,  and  made  them  his  accustomed  offer  of  free 
accommodation  in  his  own  room.  Some  interchange 
of  talk  convinced  the  seamen  that  the  offer  was  of 
fair  intent,  and  that  Wing  Dee  was  one  topside 
good  fella  chap;  and  the  four  went  from  the  alley 
by  the  farther  outlet. 

But  Lee  Yip,  drunk  as  he  was,  retained  yet  some 
control  of  his  faculties.  Too  often  lately  had  evil 
spirits,  hovering  in  the  middle  air,  swooped  down 
and  removed  from  his  custody  likely  guests  from 
whom  good  measures  of  rice-spirit  might  have  been 
obtained;  and  when  he  discovered  that  this  evening's 
company  had  also  vanished,  he  felt  that  the  time 
had  come  to  turn  his  mind  upon  the  matter.  Call- 
ing upon  his  ancestors,  he  slithered  across  the  road, 
looked  at  the  doors  about  him,  and  found  them 
shut;  and  up  and  down  the  street,  and  found  it 
empty.  He  came  to  the  mouth  of  the  alley,  and 
looked  down  it,  and  he  was  there  in  time  to  see 
four  dim  figures  disappearing  at  the  other  end.  To- 
wards them  he  shuffled  at  an  angular  run,  and  came 
stealthily  to  them.  With  well-nigh  insufferable  in- 
dignation he  recognised  his  guests,  and  heard  the 
voice  of  Wing  Dee  conversing  affably  with  them  on 
the  base  reputation  and  horrid  iniquities  of  himself, 
Lee  Yip. 


210  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

In  a  state  of  amazement  and  disgust  he  retired 
abruptly  to  the  shelter  of  the  alley,  and  crouched 
against  the  wall.  The  sudden  shock  of  this  dis- 
covery drove  the  drink  swiftly  from  his  brain,  and 
left  his  faculties  clear,  though  its  poison  still  turned 
and  crawled  in  his  blood.  He  reviewed  the  situation 
in  detail.  He  saw  himself  outraged,  scoffed  at,  re- 
viled behind  his  back  by  this  pig  of  a  seaman  who 
had  eaten  of  his  rice.  Seeking  a  motive,  he  sud- 
denly remembered  San-li-po,  and  here  he  saw  clearly 
things  that  his  bemused  mind  had  noted  without 
fully  perceiving  their  import.  He  began  to  remem- 
ber certain  looks  that  had  passed  between  San-li-po 
and  Wing  Dee  in  his  room  at  evenings.  He  began 
to  remember  that  the  meals  that  San-li-po  had  cooked 
when  the  youth  was  present  were  more  sumptuous 
and  more  daintily  served  than  those  to  which  he 
had  accustomed  him.  He  remembered  now,  very 
sharply,  how  San-li-po  had  often  served  larger  por- 
tions and  choicer  tit-bits  to  the  guest  than  to  himself. 

And  now  two  streams  of  anger  broke  from  his 
breast  and  surged  through  him :  one  against  the 
youth;  the  other,  the  greater,  against  the  outcast 
waif,  San-li-po,  who  had  thus  basely  deceived  him 
by  accepting  the  advances  of  this  pig  who  sought 
to  rob  him  of  his  means  of  life.  Hot  was  his  rage 
against  the  base  and  treacherous  thing  that  had 
subsisted  on  his  charity  these  many  years,  when  no 
other  would  help  her,  and  now  had  turned  against 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  211 

him.  He  could  not  conjecture  why  these  two  should 
wish  to  do  him  harm;  he  only  saw  himself  as  the 
victim  of  their  malicious  hearts;  and  sorely  up- 
braided himself  for  showing  kindness  to  a  woman. 

Then  the  two  streams  of  anger  united,  and  became 
one,  and  in  their  murky  waters  a  dreadful  dark 
thing  began  to  grow.  He  faced  the  way  that  Wing 
Dee  had  gone,  and  made  cruel  signs  with  his  hand, 
and  his  mouth  bristled  with  vile  words;  and  his 
brain  fed  on  the  dark  things  and  gave  back  suste- 
nance to  it.  By  the  time  he  reached  his  door  the 
thing  had  grown  until  it  had  full  possession  of  him; 
and  he  stumbled  up  the  stairs  to  work  his  wrath 
upon  the  corrupt  deceiver  whom  he  had  so  long 
harboured  in  his  home,  and,  through  her,  upon  the 
guest  who  had  abused  his  roof. 

When  he  entered,  San-li-po  was  sitting  on  the 
floor,  and  from  her  towzled  skirt  peeped  the  little 
scarlet  shoes  which  were  tapping  the  floor  to  some 
secret  tune  of  glee.  His  dull  eye  sharply  noted 
them,  for  she  had  not  yet  worn  them  in  his  presence, 
and  he  guessed  whence  they  came;  and  the  flood  of 
his  anger  threatened  to  break  its  gates.  He  con- 
trolled himself.  With  deliberate  thickness  of  speech 
and  with  heavy  countenance  he  approached  her. 

"O  San-li-po,  there  is  one  asking  for  you.  He 
desires  to  speak  at  once  with  you.  It  is  the  young 
guest  who  lately  visited  our  dwelling.  He  is  at 
the  tea-house  of  Ho  Foo  in  some  distress.  There 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

was  a  base  and  undignified  disturbance  at  the  Blue 
Lantern,  and  he  lies  wounded.  I  think  his  mind 
wanders  and  he  speaks  from  the  middle  air,  for  he 
spoke  much  of  you  and  requested  me  to  bring  you 
to  him." 

Sore  alarm  rose  to  the  quiet  eyes  of  San-li-po 
at  these  words,  and  Lee  Yip  noted  it,  and  knew 
then  that  she  was  indeed  in  conspiracy  with  that 
person  against  him.  She  moved  quickly  to  a  peg 
where  hung  a  loose  covering  robe.  This  she 
wrapped  about  her,  and  they  went  out  to  the  dark 
streets  and  into  the  flowing  hum  of  London's  silence. 
Through  road  and  alley  they  went,  he  lumbering  in 
his  broken  British  boots,  she  in  the  scarlet  shoes 
that  tripped  along  with  her  to  the  sick  one  who  had 
given  them.  They  passed  from  the  Causeway  to 
Narrow  Street,  and  so  under  many  arches  that  held 
uncomfortable  noises. 

<(Did  I  mistake,  O  Sun  at  Noon?  I  thought  you 
spoke  of  the  tea-house  of  Ho  Foo,  which  is  in " 

Lee  Yip  replied  with  a  snarl  and  a  grunt;  and, 
lest  she  offend  him  at  this  time  when  her  presence 
was  so  much  desired  by  another,  she  kept  silence 
and  followed  him.  Down  a  sloping  lane  of  coal- 
dust  he  led  her,  till,  at  a  sudden  turn,  they  faced 
the  broad,  rough  river.  Behind  them  were  the 
arches;  on  either  side  deserted  wharves.  Then  he 
turned  upon  her. 

"O  San-li-po,  creature  of  corruption  and  deceit! 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES 

O  venomous  snake  I  O  female  dog  of  the  city !  O 
pig  of  behaviour!  Your  insufferable  conspiracy 
against  the  one  who  has  fed  you  and  clothed  you  is 
known  to  me.  The  nature  of  your  relations  with 
the  detestable  and  evil-minded  Wing  Dee  is  known 
to  me.  It  is  for  some  purpose  which  you  know 
that  he  takes  from  me  my  evening  guests,  my  only 
means  of  living.  It  is  because  of  you  that  he  has 
taken  to  labour  in  the  clothes-cleansing  business  be- 
low our  apartment.  What  more  is  in  your  black 
heart  I  know  not,  but  never  shall  it  come  out  to 
injure  me.  Hi-yah!" 

Ere  she  could  utter  one  word  or  cry  he  fell  upon 
her.  With  his  curling  hands  he  worked  for  some 
minutes  what  beastliness  he  would  upon  her.  Then 
he  took  her  by  the  throat,  tore  from  her  her  gar- 
ments, lifted  her  from  the  ground,  and  dropped  her 
from  the  wharf  to  the  full,  surging  river;  and  the 
waters  closed  upon  her. 

Next  morning,  as  Wing  Dee  plunged  a  mass  of 
clothes  into  the  boiling  cauldron,  and  worked  vigor- 
ously upon  them,  he  listened  for  his  morning  greet- 
ing— the  patter  of  little  shoes  upon  the  floor  above 
— and  was  disappointed  that  he  did  not  hear  it.  He 
continued  his  work  with  quickened  ears,  awaiting 
it,  but  throughout  the  morning  no  sound  came  from 
that  upper  room.  He  was  disturbed;  and  at  mid- 
day he  went  upstairs  to  see.  Neither  Lee  Yip  nor 
San-li-po  was  there.  He  worked  automatically 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

through  the  afternoon  without  zest,  wondering  at 
this  interruption  of  habit,  and  fearing  and  di "miss- 
ing fear.  In  the  evening  he  went  again  to  the  room. 
It  was  still  vacant.  He  inquired  of  people  about 
the  street  for  San-li-po,  but  none  could  answer  him. 
He  sought  the  saloons  of  the  Quarter  for  Lee  Yip, 
but  found  him  not,  nor  had  any  seen  him  or  had 
word  of  him.  When  shops,  teahouses  and  saloons 
all  were  closed,  he  returned  to  his  room  in  a  spirit 
of  no-tranquillity.  There  he  bowed  before  the  joss, 
and  lit  a  joss-stick,  and  burned  prayer  papers;  but 
no  comfort  came  to  him,  and  the  night  passed  with 
hollow  tread.  Empty  of  hope,  too,  was  the  next 
day.  There  was  no  sign  or  sound  of  San-li-po,  and 
as  he  worked  in  the  laundry  with  languid  arms,  his 
mind  moved  upon  their  happy  times  together. 
Again  he  went  to  the  room,  and  found  it  still  de- 
serted, and  though  he  sought  he  found  no  poor 
robe  of  hers  nor  the  scarlet  shoes.  She  was  gone, 
fully  dressed.  Now  grief  and  dismay  entered  his 
heart  and  settled  there ;  and  in  the  evening  he  went 
to  his  room,  and  stood  against  its  wall,  empty  of 
purpose  and  with  no  appetite  for  sleep.  His  mind 
wandered,  and  as  it  wandered  about  their  love,  he 
remembered  how,  when  he  'had  presented  his  gift 
of  intentions,  the  scarlet  shoes,  he  had  bestowed 
his  kisses  upon  them  and  breathed  into  them,  that 
they  should  be  for  ever  part  of  him,  and  that  San- 
li-po  should  ever  have  something  of  him  about  her. 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  215 

And  remembering  this,  he  called  softly  upon  them : 
"O  little  scarlet  shoes  that  I  placed  upon  the  feet 
of  the  willowy  and  dew-like  San-li-po,  if  you  are 
with  her  bring  her  to  me.  Little  shoes,  you  are 
part  of  me,  for  I  left  myself  inside  you  when  I  gave 
you  to  her.  Come  to  me,  O  little  scarlet  shoes. 
Carry  her  to  me  or  bring  me  news  of  her." 

And  he  bowed  his  head  to  the  wall,  and  stood 
thus,  while  the  hours  crept  across  the  face  of  the 
night.  Suddenly,  when  the  mid-hour  had  newly 
passed,  he  seemed  to  hear,  through  the  enveloping 
quiet,  a  gentle  clatter  as  of  little  feet  on  the  pave- 
ment. With  leaping  heart  he  looked  from  his  win- 
dow. The  street  was  dark  and  void  of  any  human 
figure,  and  no  sound  came  up  from  its  shadow.  He 
turned  away,  and  his  arms  dropped  in  dolour.  But 
again  he  heard  it,  and  this  time  it  was  a  distinct 
sound  of  feet  on  his  stair.  He  stood  still  and 
tense,  listening.  The  sound  drew  nearer,  and  now 
pattered  outside  his  door — it  seemed  to  'him,  im- 
patiently, pleadingly. 

With  vague  tremblings  in  his  breast,  he  stole 
softly  to  the  door,  stretched  a  hesitating  hand  to 
the  fastening,  unlatched  it,  and  looked  out.  The 
tiny  landing  was  empty.  His  hand  groped  at  the 
darkness  and  touched  nothing,  and  he  knew  that  he 
was  deceived  again.  But  as  he  moved  to  close  the 
door,  the  silence  of  the  stairway  was  shattered  by 
a  peremptory  stamp  of  little  feet  on  the  landing. 


216  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

He  bent  close  to  the  floor,  and  saw  nothing,  but  very 
clearly  he  heard  the  steps  beating  out  their  morning 
message — now  on  the  landing,  now  two  or  three 
steps  down,  now  back  to  the  landing. 

Crushing  down  the  hope  that  grew  within  him, 
he  went  into  his  room,  saluted  the  joss,  called  upon 
his  ancestors,  and  returned  to  the  doorway.  Down 
the  stairs  ran  the  sharp  tattoo  of  shoes.  At  the 
bottom  they  stopped.  Slowly  he  followed  them,  and 
opened  the  lower  door.  As  he  stepped  into  the 
street,  he  heard  them  tapping  the  pavement  that  led 
to  West  India  Dock  Road,  and  knew  that  this  time 
he  was  not  deceived;  and  now  in  full  faith  he  com- 
mitted himself  to  their  direction  and  followed  them, 
caring  not  whither  they  led  him,  confident  that  they 
would  lead  him  to  San-li-po.  Across  the  road  they 
went  towards  the  Causeway,  and  above  the  sirens 
and  the  clamour  of  the  dock  trains  his  ears  picked 
out  their  chattering  guidance. 

As  he  followed  them  he  babbled  to  them,  crying: 

"O  little  scarlet  shoes  that  have  trotted  so  softly 
beside  my  noisy  feet,  thank  you  for  answering  my 
call.  You  are  leading  me  to  her  to  whom  you  be- 
long, and  soon  you  will  be  warmed  again  by  her 
little  feet.  I  hear  you  singing  to  me,  little  shoes, 
and  I  will  kiss  you  as  I  kissed  you  before,  when  we 
are  with  her." 

Clitter-clatter,  clitter-clatter,  they  tripped  before 
him.  Lightly  they  kissed  the  pavement  of  that 


THE  SCARLET  SHOES  217 

Causeway  upon  whose  face  so  many  brute  feet  had 
stamped  and  stumbled;  and  the  pavement  was  re- 
sponsive to  their  timid  touch,  and  whispered  to 
them.  And  so  they  moved  before  him  into  Narrow 
Street,  and  from  Narrow  Street  to  a  sloping  lane 
of  coal-dust,  where  he  found  himself  on  a  wharf 
facing  the  river,  and  thence  along  a  dark  landing- 
stage.  The  sky  was  clouded;  few  stars  were  visible, 
and  the  river  lacked  even  that  dull  lustre  thrown 
up  at  night  by  large  waters.  Groping  his  way,  he 
followed  the  steps  to  a  narrow  ledge.  Here  they 
ceased,  and  he  halted  in  uncertainty.  For  some 
seconds  he  stood,  peering  into  woolly  darkness, 
listening  intently  for  the  sound  of  shoes.  Then  he 
took  a  step  forward. 

And  so  Wing  Dee  came  to  San-li-po.  The  tide 
was  at  flood  and  the  waters  rushed  to  receive  him 
as  he  fell.  They  sucked  him  down  and  beat  over 
him,  and  washed  him  to  mid-stream,  and  there  they 
came  together. 

Next  morning  there  was  trouble  in  the  shop  of 
a  second-hand  wardrobe  dealer  of  Poplar. 

"Hi!"  cried  the  wife,  "what  about  them  Chinese 
shoes  you  brought  'ome  the  other  night,  what  you 
bought  orf  the  Chink?  'Ow  much  d'you  give  for 
'em?" 

"One-and-six.     What  about  it?" 

"What  about  it?     Why,  they  ain't  worth  tup- 


218  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

pence.     They're  all  worn  out  and  fit  fer  nothing." 

"Worn  out  be  blowed!  Why,  they're  as  good 
as  new.  They  ain't  bin  worn  more'n  once.  I  reckon 
I  know  me  own  job." 

"And  I  reckon  I  know  what  I  see.  The  soles  is 
worn  right  through,  and  they're  smothered  all  over 
in  mud.  Come  an'  'ave  a  look." 

Husband  came  and  had  a  look. 

"Well  I'm  damned!" 

"Huh!  Good  as  new,  eh?  That's  the  kind  oj 
thing  you  buy  after  a  night  at  yer  precious  Blue 
Lantern." 

"Well,  I  could  'a  sworn " 

"Grrr!" 

And  the  scarlet  shoes,  that  brought  two  lovers 
together,  still  make  domestic  discord  in  Poplar. 


THE  GOOD  SAMARITANS 


—  XIV  — 
THE  GOOD  SAMARITANS 

IF  you  approach  the  West  India  Dock  by  way  of 
Commercial  Road,  you  will  notice,  west  of 
Limehouse  Church,  a  long,  narrow  street  of  small 
houses  debouching  on  to  the  highway.  It  is  flat, 
colourless,  empty,  by  day;  and  by  night  dark  and 
adumbrating  queer  adventure.  It  is  the  street  that 
my  memory  first  evokes  when  I  think  of  the  East 
End,  for  it  held  forward  place  in  my  childish  fancies. 
The  corner  of  that  street  I  would  then  figure  as 
my  meeting-place  with  a  girl;  a  girl  of  my  own 
creation.  We  would  meet  at  nights  at  that  dark 
corner,  and  from  it  we  would  survey  the  great  road, 
its  bronze  gloom  broken  by  gouts  of  gas-light,  while 
behind  us  waited  the  long  ranks  of  silent  houses, 
threatening  and  alluring,  behind  whose  windows 
happened  nightly  things  dreadful  and  things  beauti- 
ful. I  did  not  make  a  paradise  of  that  street,  but 
I  gave  it  magic  properties,  and  peopled  it  with 
my  own  characters,  so  that,  as  occasion  called,  it  was 
a  street  of  romance  or  squalor.  And  every  night, 
at  its  corner,  stood  the  dream-child,  waiting  for 

221 


222  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

me.  Sometimes  she  had  curls  of  yellow,  and  some- 
times thick  black  curls,  or  tresses  of  brown;  and 
her  frocks  would  change  from  filmy  things  to  furry, 
with  the  season. 

I  have  since  shown  my  street  to  other  people,  and 
they  have  seen  a  hopeless,  littered  alley,  housing 
aims  without  hope  and  hearts  that  have  never  beat 
high  in  grace  or  villainy.  It  is  to-day  as  it  always 
was.  It  has  not  grown;  it  has  not  aged;  for  it  has 
spent  nothing  in  endeavour  or  desire.  It  is  now 
a  street  like  all  other  streets,  and  holds  no  more 
the  power  to  change  its  aspect  or  its  character.  It 
is  no  longer  wholly  awful  or  wholly  romantic.  No 
rare  adventure  and  gallant  rescue  make  it  their 
setting.  And  no  dream-child  now  stands  at  its 
corner.  Women  stand  there  all  day  and  through 
much  of  the  night,  between  the  opening  and  the 
closing  times  of  the  Blue  Lantern;  but  my  girl 
went  with  its  vanished  past.  The  street  I  had 
built  from  its  ugly  bricks,  and  the  child  I  had  placed 
there  could  not  survive  inspection  under  the  cold 
light  of  common  sense. 

To-day  Greenstockings  and  Flash  Florrie,  two 
of  the  most  prominent  of  the  Blue  Lantern  noctam- 
bulists,  live  in  that  street;  and  I  am  still  foolish 
enough  to  cherish  my  fancies  and  to  believe  that 
they  have  gobbled  up  my  dream-child.  For  in  each 
of  them  is  something  of  the  grace  and  fluent  good- 


THE  GOOD  SAMARITANS  223 

ness  that  clothed  the  little  girl  who  stood  so  often 
at  that  corner. 

Anyway,  I  now  connect  the  street  with  them. 
They  lived  together,  sharing  two  rooms  in  one  of 
the  crestfallen  houses  of  the  street;  and  they  were 
seldom  without  company.  They  kept  themselves 
decently,,  and  chose  their  men*  carefully.  Green- 
stockings  was  of  pocket  size,  slender,  dark,  frail; 
while  Flash  Florrie  walked  with  masculine  stride, 
from  wide  hips,  and  held  a  large  head  upright  under 
a  mass  of  yellow  hair.  She  could,  and  sometimes 
did,  lift  Greenstockings  from  the  floor  with  one 
hand.  /A  strangely  assorted  couple,  drawn  towards 
each/other.  They  were  friendly,  in  a  casual,  man- 
like way,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  year;  but  at 
recurrent  periods  the  lacerated  nerves  of  Green- 
stockings  would  meet  the  fever-heat  temper  of  Flash 
Florrie;  and  then  there  were  ructions. 

Upon  a  night  they  sat  together  in  the  Blue  Lan- 
tern. The  hours  were  mounting,  and  the  crowd 
had  thinned;  only  a  few  niggers  and  a  somnolent 
sailor  remained.  Flash  Florrie  had  undergone 
severe  ordeal  by  bottle,  and  her  manner  gave  warn- 
ing of  trouble.  The  somnolent  sailor  failed  to 
respond  to  her  amicable  approaches,  and  she  began 
to  look  round  for  something  to  swear  at.  Among 
the  most  prized  of  the  appointments  of  the  Blue 
Lantern  are  four  canaries,  whose  cage  hangs  from 
the  chandelier  above  the  centre  of  the  saloon.  For 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

many  years  they  have  lived  there,  syncopating,  with 
their  piercing  cries,  the  sedate  confabulations  of 
bookmakers  and  love-bargainers,  who  have  often 
expressed  the  pious  wish  that  some  hungry  genera- 
tion would  tread  them  down.  Flash  Florrie,  find- 
ing her  one-sided  conversation  with  the  sailor  non- 
productive in  the  way  of  business,  turned  her  at- 
tention to  the  birds.  She  had  been  telling  him 
of  the  country  vicarage  where  her  early  years  were 
spenty&nder  the  care  of  her  father,  "the  dear  ole 
leaf- — the  ole  home,  dearie — I  can  see  it  now — 
vith  roses  all  around  the  door  and  Gawd  is  Love 
)ver  the  mantelpiece  in  fretwork — and  a  governess 
:art  and  a  pony  in  the  stable — and  rabbit-shooting 
it  Easter  and  prayers  every  morning — I  can  see  it 
low,  dearie./!  was  a  fine  gel  then — the  old  dad 
was  that  proud  of  me — I  got  engaged  to  a  viss- 
count.  Well,  one  day,  dearie,  a  stranger  come  to 
the  Vicarage,  and  the  ole  dad  in  the  kindness  of 

his  heart  gave  him  shelter  and Oh,  can't' 

jom'eone-kitt*tho*e-bloody-birds-I-can't-ear-meself- 
think!" 

Greenstockings  stood  up.  '  'Ere,  stop  it,  Florrie. 
Come  on  'ome,  dear.  You're  prop'ly  blotto  to- 
night." 

"Blotto  be  damned!  Shan't!  Don'  wanner 
g'ome.  And  don'  in'rup'  me  when  I'm  talkin'  to 
frien'.  You  go'n'  make  those  bloody  birds  shurrup. 
They're  doing  it  a-purpose  to  'noy  me." 


THE  GOOD  SAMARITANS      0         225 

•(    "No,  they  ain't,  dearie.    You  come  on  'ome." 

"Shan't!      Not   till  them   birds   shurrup.     You 
go'n'  stop  'em.     Else  I  will." 

j  "Now,  Florrie  dear!" 

i  The  birds  danced  about  their  cage,  screaming, 
cheep-cheeping,  and  chirruping  to  the  merry  bang  of 
the  beer-engine.  With  a  surprisingly  adroit  move- 
ment the  drunken  Florrie  stretched  a  huge  arm, 
grabbed  her  pot  of  beer,  and  flung  it  fiercely  up- 
wards at  the  cage.  It  did  its  duty;  it  drenched  the 
birds,  and  their  debate  ended  abruptly  in  a  flutter  of 


Greenstockings  turned  wrathfully  upon  her  friend. 

"Oh,  Florrie,  you  cruel  thing!      Oh,   Florrie!" 

Florrie  got  up.  "I'll  learn  the  bahstuds  to  in'er- 
rup'  me." 

She  put  a  foot  on  a  chair  and  reached  up  to 
them. 

^te'm  alone!"  squalled  Greenstockings  in  im- 
potent anger.  "Oh,  the  pore  li'l  things!  Le'm 
alone,  Florrie.  Oh,  you  beast!" 

Florrie  held  in  her  hand  a  lighted  match.  Green- 
stockings  flew  at  her  and  grabbed  her  about  the 
waist.  Florrie  shook  her  off,  and  the  trouble  began. 
She  came  down  awkwardly  from  the  chair  and 
swerved  towards  the  kid. 

"Eh?  Whassat?  You  call  me  a  beast?  I  don* 
'low  no-no-body  call  me  a  beast.  Who  er  you  to 
call  me  beast — eh?  You — yer  mangy  skinnygalee 


226  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

— you — yer  little   rag-tag  street  baggage   what  I 
could  pick  up  and  put  in  me  pocket — you !" 

The  drink  was  in  her  brain  and  in  her  eyes.  She 
was  big  and  strong,  and  she  knew  it,  and,  being 
drunk,  was  ready  to  demonstrate  it.  She  saw 
before  her  a  little  .slender  body,  taut  with  anger, 
but  consciously  shrinking  at  its  own  daring.  She 
shot  an  arm  across  the  table  behind  which  it  shrank, 
and  grabbed  it  by  the  throat. 

"Come  out — you !    Beast,  am  I  ?    I'll  learn  yeh I" 

Bang!  went  the  table  to  a  running  comment  of 
smashing  glass.  In  the  next  minute  horrid  things 
happened.  The  big  girl  and  the  little  girl  fought  in 
naked  fury.  Florrie  aimed  blow  after  blow  with 
the  fist  at  the  little,  worn  face,  while  Greenstockings 
responded  with  the  teeth,  and  bit  at  the  hand  that 
held  her,  and  kicked  and  screamed.  As  the  teeth 
met,  Florrie  howled  and  dropped  her  hold.  Green- 
stockings  flew  in  then,  and  clawed  at  her,  ripping 
from  her  neck  the  cotton  blouse,  and  tearing  with 
frantic  fingers  at  her  breasts.  She  butted  with  her 
head,  and  used  her  feet  with  dire  purpose.  Both 
sobbed  and  emitted  animal  noises. 

Then  Florrie  forced  her  to  the  lounge,  and  got 
her  down,  and  gave  back  what  she  had  received, 
and  more.  She  tore  her  blouse  from  her,  and 
clawed  and  thumped  her,  pulling  her  up  and  beating 
her  heavily  down,  and  tearing  at  her  bare  arms. 
Together,  in  a  frenzied  embrace,  they  rolled  from 


THE  GOOD  SAMARITANS 

the  lounge  to  the  floor.  Greenstockings  drummed 
with  her  feet,  and  struggled  and  cried  under  the 
torture  of  Florrie's  hands,  and  bit  again  and  again. 
Then  Florrie  found  her  throat  and  closed  upon  it, 
and  her  eyes  glared  down  upon  her  victim.  She 
was  not  then  choking  Greenstockings,  her  little  com- 
rade. She  had  her  hands  upon  an  enemy,  upon  the 
embodiment  of  all  the  unkind  things  that  had  be- 
fallen her;  and  she  was  wrenching  its  life  from  it. 
No  cries  came  from  Greenstockings  now;  only  hard 
moans  that  grew  fainter  and  fainter. 

In  less  than  a  minute  had  all  this  happened: 
before  any  -of  the  customers  could  follow  its  action, 
and  before  the  landlord  had  had  time  to  come  round 
from  his  private  room  behind  the  jug-and-bottle  bar. 

Then  two  of  the  Malays  leapt  from  their  corner 
and  fell  upon  Florrie.  They  leapt  just  in  time. 
Scarcely  a  breath  was1  left  in  the  torn  body  of 
Greenstockings.  But  Flcwrie  would  not  be  denied 
her  vengeance.  She  freed  one-  hand  and  strove  to 
beat  them  off;  but  they  were  two  to  one,  and  they 
dragged  her  back  from  her  enemy.  But  they  could 
not  hold  her.  With  lithe  movements  she  fought 
them,  and  broke  from  them,  and,  ere  Greenstock- 
ings could  stir  from  her  prostration,  seized  her 
again. 

"And  this  time  I'll  finish  yeh,  blast  yeh!" 

Again  the  Malays  came  to  her,  and  she  fought 
them  and  Greenstockings  by  turn.  Manfully  and 


228  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

whitely  they  stuck  it.  In  a  few  moments  they  had 
bleeding  faces  and  torn  clothes,  and  many  times  had 
rolled  in  the  muck  of  the  floor.  But  at  last  one  col- 
lared her  low,  beneath  the  breasts;  and  the  other 
seized  an  arm  and  twisted  it.  In  -this  way,  only, 
could  they  save  the  poor  thing  that  Florrie  hated. 
Straining,  panting,  their  black  faces  smeared,  their 
mouths  open  and  steaming,  they  dragged  her  from 
her  friend.  Writhing  within  their  arms,  she 
screamed,  blasphemed,  and  spat.  But  slowly  they 
staggered  with  her  to  the  door,  and  paid  no  heed  to 
the  curses  she  laid  upon  Greens  to  ckings  and  the 
tale  of  horrid  punishments  that  she  would  inflict 
upon  her  when  she  got  her  alone. 

Then,  as  they  pulled  back  the  swing  doors  with 
their  feet,  Greenstockings  sat  up,  and  looked  about 
her.  She  looked  round  for  Florrie,  wondering  from 
which  corner  the  next  blow  would  fall,  and  could 
not  see  her.  When  she  did  see  her  she  saw  her 
struggling  in  the  arms  of  two  agile  black  men.  Next 
moment  Flash  Florrie  was  free.  A  piercing  cry 
shocked  the  attention  of  her  captors  from  their 
charge,  and  an  antic  figure  leapt  upon  them  and 
overwhelmed  them  with  worse  words  than  Florrie's 
and  with  sharper  fingers.  A  bruised,  bleeding,  tat- 
tered little  figure  was  upon  them,  shielding  Florrie 
from  them  with  outstretched  arms,  and  crying: 

"Grrr,  yeh  dirty  blasted  niggers!  Leave  'er  be! 
'Ow  dare  yeh  put  yer  dirty  black  'ands  on  a  white 
gel!  Leave  my  pal  alone,  yeh  bloody  niggers!" 


TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS 


—  XV  — 
TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS 

THE  little  home  of  Quong  Lee  in  Limehouse 
Causeway  rang  with  the  noise  of  the  evening 
revellers  of  the  Quarter,  for  a  feast  was  in  celebra- 
tion. Across  the  blind  of  his  window,  lit  by  the 
shop  lamps  of  the  narrow  street,  raced  and  raced 
the  antic  shadows  of  those  who  danced  and  frolicked. 
But  Quong  Lee  is  old  and  wise,  and  sits  apart  from 
youth-time  pleasures.  As  I  entered  his  room,  I 
entered  purpurical  darkness  in  which  the  window- 
blind  made  a  single  slab  of  radiance.  In  a  corner 
about  half-a-yard  from  the  floor  glowed  a  bead  of 
blue  light.  The  air  was  loaded  with  the  reek  of 
chandu.  The  light  spoke  swiftly  and  softly.  "Ao. 
Baitho!"  it  chanted.  I  stood  by  the  door  and  won- 
dered how  I  could  be  expected  to  find  a  seat  in  a 
room  which  was  blank  with  darkness  and  bare  of 
furniture.  Then  a  match  spluttered,  and  Quong 
Lee  shuffled  to  his  feet,  lit  an  oil  lamp,  put  his  pipe 
away,  and  showed  me  a  cushion  on  the  floor. 

He  bade  me  welcome;  asked  if  I  had  eaten  my 
rice,  and  could  I  lend  him  half-a-dollar?     I  could 

231 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

and  would,  on  condition  that  he  told  me  an  entirely 
new  and  true  story.  He  accepted  my  condition  and 
my  half-dollar;  and,  while  the  crowding  noise  of 
the  festival  rose  to  alcoholic  pitch,  he  spoke  some- 
what in  this  wise : 

About  these  great  docks  of  London,  not  a  while 
ago,  lived  one  Nobby  the  Nark,  who  lounged  about 
the  water-side,  and  ran  messages  for  men;  or,  more 
accurately,  proceeded  at  a  moderate  pace  upon  such 
occasional  business  as  other  men  might  require  of 
him.  During  the  day,  when  not  thus  occupied,  he 
would  meet  men  who  took  sums  of  money  from 
him,  and  promised  him  six  to  four,  or,  it  mjr  be,  ten 
to  one,  should  the  results  of  certain  pefrormances 
by  horses,  which  were  to  take  place  in  the  afternoon, 
be  favourable  to  their  doing  so.  At  evenings  he 
would  frequent  the  gaming-rooms  kept  by  the 
honourable  Ho  Foo.  Sometimes  he  would  gain  a 
little,  and  sometimes  he  would  lose  much,  for  very 
highly  skilled  was  Ho  Foo  in  games  of  hazard. 

There  came  a  night  when  Nobby  the  Nark  would 
play  pinkipo  and  chausa-bazee,  games  that  do  not 
lightly  yield  their  benefits  to  the  cumbrous  mental 
processes  of  those  who  do  occasional  work  at  the 
water-side.  Very  seriously  did  Nobby  strive  with 
the  games,  but  at  the  night's  end  honourable  Ho 
Foo  held  not  only  the  cash  of  Nobby,  but  the 
scrawled  promise  of  Nobby  to  pay  very  much  more. 


TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS 

Now  it  was  imperative  that  Nobby  should  hasten 
to  redeem  that  promise ;  for,  should  he  fail  to  do  so, 
he  would  be  for  ever  forbidden  the  gaming-room 
of  Ho  Foo,  and  Ho  Foo  would  pass  the  word  to 
all  other  gaming-rooms ;  and  life  without  a  gaming- 
room  would  have  but  little  savour  for  Nobby  the 
Nark. 

Four  days  passed  into  the  upper  air,  and  no 
word  came  to  Hoo  Foo  from  Nobby  of  the  money 
that  should  fulfil  the  written  promise.  Now  Nobby 
was  the  father  of  a  daughter,  who  kept  house  for 
him,  and  worked  for  both  of  them  at  an  adjacent 
factory;  and  this  story  to  which  the  honourable 
mister  deigns  to  listen  is  properly  the  story  of  this 
daughter. 

On  the  evening  following,  Ho  Foo  was  taking 
the  air  around  the  gates  of  the  West  India  Dock, 
where  the  seamen  gather  to  talk,  when  he  heard 
soft  sounds  as  of  one  ill  at  ease.  Drawing  near 
he  saw,  in  a  dim  corner,  this  daughter  of  Nobby. 
He  knew  her  well;  for  often  she  had  come  to  his 
gaming-room  to  drag  her  father  home.  Very  fair 
was  this  maiden,  and  brave  was  her  carriage.  Upon 
her  head  were  many  honey-coloured  curls,  cun- 
ningly held  captive  by  a  little  time-worn  hat;  and  her 
bright  voice  never  failed  to  please  those  to  whom 
she  addressed  herself.  But  to-night  her  carriage 
was  subdued,  the  curls  had  escaped,  and  some  hung 
pendulous;  and  about  her  large  eyes  hovered  many 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

tears.  Now  to  the  keeper  of  a  gaming-house  noth- 
ing is  more  moving  than  the  sight  of  distress;  and 
Ho  Foo  approached  her  and  engaged  her  in  sym- 
pathetic talk. 

As  he  heard  her  tale,  sorrow  and  anger  rushed 
upon  him,  and  he  reproached  himself  that  his 
gaming-house  should  have  brought  such  disorder  of 
mind  upon  so  fair  a  maid.  For,  from  her  words, 
he  learnt  that  Nobby,  her  father,  had  encountered 
much  difficulty  in  procuring  the  necessary  sum  that 
should  redeem  his  written  leaves  and  admit  him  once 
more  to  the  gaming-tables;  and,  growing  fretful 
from  this  continued  abstinence  from  his  favourite 
pastimes  had  bade  her  go  out  to  the  dock  gates, 
where  gathered  the  seamen,  and  procure  it  by  some 
means  from  them;  nor  should  she  return  to  their 
home  until  she  had  done  so. 

Emotions  of  an  unpleasant  nature  enveloped  the 
mind  of  honourable  Ho  Foo  at  this,  and  he  folded 
his  hands  and  turned  his  thought,  inward.  There- 
after he  spoke,  saying: 

"This  one  is  indeed  in  torment  at  words  of  daugh- 
ter of  Nobby  the  Nark.  O  maiden,  go  home,  go 
freely  home.  Turn  from  this  base  resort  and  go 
home  in  tranquillity.  Return  to  altogether  despic- 
able one,  Nobby,  and  say  to  him  that  his  written 
leaves  are  restored  to  him.  Take  them,  little  chrys- 
anthemum, and  put  your  mind  in  order,  and  fill 


TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS  235 

your  heart  once  again  with  emotions  of  agreeable 
nature." 

From  the  fold  of  his  canvas  jacket  he  produced 
the  written  leaves  of  Nobby  and  presented  them  to 
her.  These  words  were  not  the  true  words  of 
honourable  Ho  Foo,  for  he  spoke  in  something  of 
his  fathers'  tongue  and  something  of  that  of  this 
country;  but  his  attitude  of  mind  conveyed  itself 
to  the  maid;  and  there  sprang  into  her  face  that 
which  told  him  his  words  were  good  to  her.  So 
they  parted;  she  happily,  to  her  father,  no  longer 
fearful  of  what  the  night  might  bring;  while  Ho 
Foo  passed  on  to  take  the  air,  and  his  mind  walked 
in  the  clear  spaces  of  right-doing. 

But  there  were  certain  base  men,  hirelings  of 
the  law-givers,  who,  knowing  nothing  of  this  right- 
doing,  jixed  their  eyes  upon  his  wrong-doing  in  dis- 
regard of  their  laws  against  gambling.  And  so  it 
fell  one  night  that  a  company  of  men  set  out  from 
an  office  of  the  law,  and  entered  the  gaming-house 
of  Ho  Foo,  and  haled  him  before  the  justices.  There 
they  laid  two  charges  upon  him:  that  he  was  the 
keeper  of  a  gaming-house,  and  that  he  had  in  his 
possession  many  ounces  of  the  Great  Tobacco. 
Heavy  was  the  sum  that  he  was  commanded  to 
surrender  to  them  ere  he  might  go  free;  nay,  all 
he  possessed,  and  more,  so  that  he  was  driven  to 
sell  the  things  of  his  house  that  he  might  satisfy 
them. 


236  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Much  wisdom  was  in  the  mind  of  the  sage  who 
observed  that  the  misfortunes  of  one  are  the  enter- 
tainment of  the  many.  Ho  Foo  was  now  driven 
to  sleeping  in  a  poor  back  room,  empty  of  any  ap- 
pointments; and  there  he  lay  unheeded,  while  about 
the  streets  his  downfall  occasioned  much  agreeable 
diversion  among  his  friends  and  those  who  had  fre- 
quented his  tables. 

There  he  lay,  and  to  his  uneasiness  of  mind  came 
sickness  of  the  body.  None  came  to  succour  or  to 
nourish  him.  On  the  bare  floor  he  lay  in  misery; 
and  those  who  heard  of  his  plight  said  that  they 
hoped  others  were  providing  him  with  what  was 
necessary.  But  in  a  space  of  days,  the  tale  of  his 
sickness  came  to  the  ears  of  the  daughter  of  Nobby 
the  Nark;  and  her  heart  was  moved  and  she  was 
sorely  troubled.  She  had  not  forgotten — what 
woman  would? — his  beautiful  service  to  her  in  her 
distress,  and  she  cast  eagerly  about  her  for  means 
to  help  him.  But  alas !  turn  as  she  would,  she  found 
none.  Ho  Foo,  she  had  been  told,  was  stricken  with 
a  fever,  and  his  malady  demanded  fresh  fruits  and 
cool  jellies  and  gentle  draughts,  which  were  not  to 
be  had  for  the  few  pence  that  remained  from  her 
week's  wages  after  household  dues  were  met.  She 
even  looked  about  their  miserable  attic  home  lest 
there  might  be  something  that  she  could  spare  on 
which  some  shillings  might  be  obtained.  But  noth- 


TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS  237 

ing  was  there  save  the  poorest  and  most  necessary 
appointments  of  daily  life. 

Then,  one  morning,  as  she  dressed  hastily  for 
the  factory,  pondering  still  the  case  of  Ho  Foo,  and 
looking  blankly  into  a  chipped  scrap  of  mirror,  it 
suddenly  came  to  her  that  she  had  long  been  carry- 
ing money  about  her  person.  It  was  in  her  hands 
now,  fine  coils  of  spun  gold  which  she  was  piling 
loosely  upon  her  head.  There  lay  her  means  of 
succouring  Ho  Foo,  and  the  aid  would  be  sweeter 
and  more  potent  since  it  was  part  of  herself. 

Well,  that  evening,  when  she  came  home  from 
the  factory,  she  sat  down  before  the  scratched  mir- 
ror, and  let  down  her  hair,  which  tumbled  in  a 
cascade  of  light.  Slowly,  sadly,  yet  glad  for  the 
service  that  she  might  bring  a  friend,  she  took 
scissors  and  cut  off  a  curl  from  either  side,  and  laid 
them  on  the  table  before  her,  and  wept  upon  them. 
Then,  resolutely,  she  cut  two  more  curls.  So  did 
she  yet  four  times  more,  till  twelve  golden  curls 
lay  spent  upon  the  table.  These  she  made  into  a 
small  parcel.  Then,  'barbed  and  cropped  of  her 
beauty,  ludicrous  to  look  upon,  she  crept  out  to  one 
who  had  dealings  in  hair.  And  when  that  one  saw 
the  refined  quality  of  the  hair,  his  eyes  glistened, 
and  he  turned  his  mind  into  itself  for  a  space  of 
minutes.  When  he  spoke  he  named  a  sum  of  money 
which,  he  said,  he  might  with  great  ado  recover 
when  he  should  have  treated  the  curls  with  the 


238  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

skill  that  was  his;  a  sum  utterly  inadequate  to  the 
purpose  for  which  it  was  required.  But  the  large 
experience  which  the  maid's  penury  had  given  her 
in  bargaining  came  to  her  aid,  and  much  talk  and 
manoeuvre  passed  between  them,  until  at  last  she 
left  with  many  shillings. 

Then  did  she  hasten  to  procure  delicacies  and 
comforts  for  poor  Ho  Foo;  and  O  my  son,  this 
child,  shorn  and  disfigured  as  she  was,  careful  as 
she  was  of  her  fair  name,  steadfast  as  she  was  in 
bearing  herself  properly  before  her  neighbours, 
hesitated  not  to  go  to  the  bare  room  where  lay  my 
countryman,  and  tend  him,  and  lave  his  head,  and 
feed  him  with  the  dainty  foods  that  he  was  too 
weak  to  give  himself.  Bold  was  her  spirit  in  thus 
challenging  the  good  report  of  her  kind  and  im- 
perilling her  bright  fame;  bold  her  spirit  and  very 
tender  her  heart.  Many  nights  she  went  to  him, 
and  gave  him  of  her  care,  and  sorely  grieved  was 
he  when  his  eyes  discovered  the  sacrifice  of  her 
beauty.  He  would  have  refused  her  ministrations 
and  her  baskets  of  delicacies,  but  she  would  not  hear 
him,  and  he  was  indeed  too  weak  to  contest.  So 
she  continued  to  visit  him  till  the  store  of  shillings 
was  spent.  Then  she  came  no  more.  But  her  work 
was  done,  and  soon  Ho  Foo  was  able  to  rise  and 
take  the  air  of  Pennyfields. 

She  came  to  him  no  more.  Many  days  he  lingered 
about  West  India  Dock  Road,  hoping  to  see  her, 


TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS  239 

and  tell  her  of  his  thankful  heart.  He  would  not 
go  to  her,  lest  he  thus  bring  base  remarks  upon 
her;  he  would  wait  at  corners,  thinking  that  she 
might  pass.  But  she  came  no  more ;  and  at  last  he 
dispatched  a  little  boy  as  messenger  to  say  that  he 
again  was  well  and  was  burning  prayer-papers  in 
her  name  for  gratitude. 

Ill-tidings  came  back  with  the  messenger.  Her 
sweet  service  had  driven  the  fever  from  Ho  Foo, 
and  it  had  entered  into  her.  On  the  bed  in  her 
attic  she  lay,  broken  of  beauty,  and  suffering,  while 
her  ill-famed  father  gave  her  what  casual  attention 
he  could  spare  from  the  water-side  and  the  gaming- 
room. 

Meekly  did  Ho  Foo  plead  to  Nobby  the  Nark 
that  he  might  be  permitted  to  attend  her;  to  sit 
at  her  door  in  case  of  urgent  need;  to  perform  do- 
mestic duties.  But  Nobby  the  Nark  replied  with 
coarse  words  and  evil  insinuations  and  brutal  looks 
and  snarls.  So  Ho  Foo  could  but  wait  in  the  street 
outside,  and  watch,  and  call  his  good  spirits  to  her 
aid. 

In  a  few  days  it  was  done.  From  that  poor  attic 
she  passed,  even  as  Ho  Foo  stood  in  the  street 
below,  with  bowed  head,  as  he  had  stood  every 
day  since  his  first  visit. 

But  that  is  not  the  end.  When  the  news  came 
to  him,  Ho  Foo  went  from  that  darkened  street 
with  a  high  resolve.  A  few  small  coins  he  had; 


240  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

and  when  he  had  performed  rites  above  them,  he 
took  them  to  a  gaming-house,  then  newly  opened, 
and  his  good  spirits  went  with  him.  He  came  away, 
long  past  the  noon  of  night,  and  his  belt  was 
weighted  with  many  coins  and  rolls  of  paper  money. 

Next  day  he  sought  piously  for  the  merchant  in 
hair;  and  when  he  had  found  him  he  inquired  of 
him  concerning  twelve  golden  curls  recently  bought. 
And  lo !  there,  in  a  small  box,  they  lay,  even  as  they 
had  been  delivered.  Then  did  Ho  Foo  inquire  the 
price  at  which  the  merchant  would  relinquish  them ; 
and  when  the  merchant  demanded  of  him  four  times 
that  which  he  had  paid  for  them,  Ho  Foo  quietly 
counted  out  the  money  and  carried  the  curls  rever- 
ently to  his  room. 

Sorrow  and  misfortune  had  come  at  once  to  two 
poor  people  remote  in  birth  and  creed — Ho  Foo 
and  the  daughter  of  Nobby  the  Nark — and  from 
this  bond  sprang  love  everlasting.  For,  with  the 
rest  of  the  large  sum  of  money  that  he  had  won, 
Ho  Foo  opened  a  little  tea-house  in  the  Causeway; 
and  in  a  corner  of  that  tea-house  he  made  a  shrine; 
and  in  that  shrine  he  hung  the  twelve  golden  curls, 
and  beneath  them  he  wrote  fairly,  in  his  own  char- 
acters and  in  the  characters  of  this  country,  their 
story;  and  the  place  is  known  as  the  Tea  House 
of  the  Twelve  Golden  Curls. 

The  Tea  House  of  the  Twelve  Golden  Curls  is 
built  on  sacrifice  and  gratitude;  and  there,  because 


TWELVE  GOLDEN  CURLS 

of  one  white  girl's  gracious  heart,  your  countrymen 
and  mine  now  gather  in  friendship  and  pass  the 
hours  in  amity.  And  if  any  dispute  ever  arise  be- 
tween a  white  man  and  one  of  us,  it  is  the  custom 
that  if  one  of  them  cry,  "Let  us  talk  of  it  at  the  Tea 
House  of  the  Twelve  Golden  Curls,"  the  dispute  is 
ended,  and  courtesies  pass  in  place  of  angry  words. 
And  that  is  the  story  of  the  Twelve  Golden  Curls. 

"Quong  Lee,"  I  cried  indignantly,  "it  isn't  true. 
I  don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  The  Chinese  and  the 
whites  don't  dwell  together  in  amity.  You  know 
as  well  as  I  do  that  they  don't.  And  there's  no 
tea-house  here  called  the  Tea  House  of  the  Twelve 
Golden  Curls." 

But  Quong  Lee  was  impenitent.  Placidly  he 
picked  up  his  hap-heem  pipe.  "The  words  of  the 
elegant  visitor  to  this  despicable  hovel,"  he  re- 
marked, "have  much  truth.  The  nature  of  the 
relations  at  present  existing  in  this  quarter  between 
the  white  men  and  my  countrymen  is  undoubtedly 
not  to  be  described  as  amicable.  Even  to-day,  if 
the  nobler  sort  of  Englishman  observes  a  Chinaman 
gaze  upon  a  white  girl  his  instincts  of  chivalry  are 
aroused,  and  he  indites  stern  epistles  to  the  Printed 
Leaves.  Which  is  precisely  the  reason  why  this  one 
has  just  invented  and  related  the  unprofitable  and 
wholly  fabulous  story  to  which  the  refined  and 
exalted  mister  has  so  politely  listened." 


MISS  PLUM-BLOSSOM 


—  XVI  — 
MISS  PLUM-BLOSSOM 

IT  is  the  tale  of  the  wooing  and  winning  of  Lily 
Lily-Ling,  called  Miss  Plum-Blossom;  of  how 
she  was  pursued;  and  of  her  capture  by  her  neigh- 
bour and  countryman  Sam  San  Phung. 

Miss  Plum-Blossom  was  London-Chinese,  and 
first  saw  the  fog  of  this  world  on  a  cargo-boat  as 
it  crawled  up  the  Thames  from  the  great  seas.  She 
was  registered  as  a  native  of  Stepney,  but  her  round 
face  and  blunt  features  and  olive  skin  furnished  a 
clear  dementi  of  that  statement.  For  eighteen  years 
she  had  lived  among  her  countrymen,  seeing  little  of 
the  other  corners  of  London  which  are  not  Chinese, 
and  now  was  under  the  care  of  Lee  Tack,  known 
as  the  Dragon-with-Jaws-of-Fearful-Proportions, 
which  is  to  say  that  he  was  a  bad  man;  and  she 
worked  as  serving-maid  at  his  establishment. 

Now  Sam  San  Phung,  as  he  took  tea  and  bitter 
melon  at  the  tea-house  of  Lee  Tack,  cast  slanting 
eyes  upon  the  melting  beauty  of  Plum-Blossom,  and 
would  have  prepared  for  her  a  shrine  in  his  two- 
roomed  cottage  in  Gill  Street.  But  lo !  there  arose 

245 


246  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

another,  one  Ah  Toy,  the  Mighty  One  of  Bodily 
Perfection,  who  had  much  fame  as  a  vaudeville 
wrestler;  and  upon  Miss  Plum-Blossom  he  cast  di- 
rect, disconcerting  eyes,  so  that  he  dazzled  her. 

Where  to  bestow  her  heart  the  maid  knew  not. 
She  had  walked  in  Poplar  Gardens  with  each,  and 
with  each  had  given  and  received  certain  salutations. 
But  somehow  .  .  .  Ah  Toy  was  strong  and  clever 
and  admired,  and  he  had  money;  but  he  came  from 
Canton.  Phung  was  poor  and  shiftless,  and  cut 
but  little  ice;  but  he  was  of  Mongolia,  like  herself, 
and,  like  herself,  was  registered  as  a  native  of  Step- 
ney. Greatly  she  desired  to  escape  from  the  uncouth 
voice  and  hands  of  Lee  Tack;  but  when  she  decided, 
in  her  mind,  for  the  one,  her  heart  turned  straight 
to  the  other.  When  she  was  with  Phung  she  wanted 
Ah  Toy;  when  with  Ah  Toy  it  was  Phung  who 
seemed  desirable.  So  it  is  with  the  young  maid 
throughout  the  world. 

And  so  the  merry  comedy  went  on;  and  when 
the  two  men  met  in  the  Limehouse  streets  or  about 
the  West  India  Dock,  Ah  Toy  would  thrust  forth 
the  mighty  stomach  that  had  made  him  famous, 
and  beetle  upon  his  withering  opponent.  And  when 
he  had  passed  Phung  would  turn  and  make  the  sign 
of  spitting  and  the  five  fingers. 

But  the  happiness  of  Miss  Plum-Blossom  was  at 
length  achieved,  and  this  was  the  way  of  it. 

It  was  the  night  of  the  Feast  of  Lanterns,  in  mid- 


MISS  PLUM-BLOSSOM  247 

January,  and  Limehouse  was  doing  its  utmost  to  let 
London  know  about  it.  In  Lee  Tack's  tea-house 
carnival  reigned,  and  Miss  Plum-Blossom  was  trot- 
ting backwards  and  forwards  with  tea  and  cakes 
and  noodle  and  chop  suey  and  illicit  drinks.  From 
a  table  beyond  the  farthest  depths  of  the  tea-house 
came  a  volume  of  noise  that  beat  against  the  noise 
of  the  streets,  and  those  near  the  doorway,  who 
sat  in  the  line  of  the  two  waves  of  sound,  were 
drowned  beneath  them.  In  the  back  room,  before 
a  table,  stood  Sam  San  Phung,  and  with  him  were 
Lee  Tack  and  Ah  Toy.  Ay  Toy  was  making  his 
presence  known. 

"Ho  Ess!  Dissa  one  he  say  to  hon'ble  Sam  San 
Phung  'at  he  fight  with  dissa  one,  and  if  dissa  one 
he  t'row  hon'ble  Sam  he  tek  Miss  Plum-Blossom." 
He  swayed  slightly,  for  his  bulky  form  was  the 
more  bulky  by  many  doses  of  rice-spirit.  "And  if 
hon'ble  Sam  he  t'row  dissa  one,  'en  he  tek  Miss 
Plum-Blossom.  For  Miss  Plum-Blossom  she  no  can 
say  wedda  she  like  dissa  one  or  hon'ble  Sam,  so  dissa 
one  he " 

But  here  Lee  Tack  stepped  forward  with  the 
dignity  of  a  mandarin,  and  raised  a  fat  yellow  hand. 

uDissa  one  he  wan  no  fight  in  dissa  mis'ble^litty- 
o-saloon.  Ho  no !  Hon'ble  Ah  Toy  he  wan  fight 
cos  he  heap  big  fighting  fella.  Ho,  Plum-Blossom !" 

Plum-Blossom  trotted  forward  at  the  call,  and 
sidled  to  the  table,  her  hands  playing  at  her  throat 


248  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

as  she  glanced  from  one  to  the  other.  Her  flat 
face  showed  perplexity. 

"Which  you  like  for  husband?"  demanded  Lee 
Tack.  "Hon'ble  and  upright  Sam  San  Phung  or 
noble  and  round-bodied  Ah  Toy?" 

"No  can  say,"  she  murmured  after  a  pause,  scan- 
ning Lee  Tack's  face  as  though  fearing  she  should 
do  wrong  whatever  answer  she  gave. 

"Ho!"  snapped  Ah  Toy,  "if  the  son  of  a  sea- 
slug,  Sam  San  Phung,  no  fight " 

Again  Lee  Tack  silenced  him. 

"Fighting  no  good,"  he  declared.  "No  equal 
chance.  You  t'row  cards,  huh?  Dissa  one  bring 
five  card,  and  plenty  number  he  win — huh?" 

Miss  Plum-Blossom,  still  immobile,  nodded.  Ah 
Toy  grunted.  Sani  San  Phung  looked  agreement. 
Lee  Tack  clapped  and  gave  an  order  for  cards. 
While  they  waited,  Sam  San  Phung  moved  to  the 
girl,  and  took  her  hand,  and  prattled  a  moment, 
until  Ah  Toy  thrust  out  his  stomach,  and  sent  Phung 
staggering  back  many  paces.  Lee  Tack  raised  a 
reproving  arm.  Then  from  between  the  curtains 
that  concealed  the  staircase  swam  a  figure  carrying 
a  pack  of  Chinese  cards. 

The  news  had  galloped  round  the  tables  in  the 
outer  room  and  had  been  passed  to  the  street;  and 
soon  the  room  was  full.  The  musicians  ceased  play- 
ing. The  boys  stopped  dicing.  Two  pipe-smokers 
alone  remained  placid.  The  rest  of  the  room 


MISS  PLUM-BLOSSOM  249 

centred,  in  a  tangle  of  oily  heads,  about  the  little 
wicker  table  in  the  centre.  Lee  Tack  took  the  cards, 
cut  them,  and  dealt  five  to  each  man.  Ah  Toy  took 
his  five  and  looked  at  them;  and  curses  dropped 
from  his  lips  like  spitting  toads.  Phung  threw  first 
— defiantly,  a  two.  There  was  a  bubble  of  exclama- 
tion as  Ah  Toy  threw  four. 

Ah  Toy  delivered  an  unnerving  grimace,  and  the 
men  pressed  hard  on  the  players.  Phung  turned  a 
little  pale  as  he  threw  three,  and  Ah  Toy  followed 
it  with  two.  He  raised  an  arm,  and  pleaded  with 
the  crowd: 

"Back,  Foo;  back,  Sway  Lim." 

Plum-Blossom  watched  with  impassive  face,  won- 
dering whither  the  cards  would  send  her — to  the 
bold  Ah  Toy  or  to  the  gracious  Phung. 

"Move!  Move!"  pleaded  Phung  again,  as  the 
crowd  hung  heavily  around  him.  He  moved  a  hand 
to  his  head,  and  pressed  them  with  his  elbow.  He 
threw  eight.  Ah  Toy  swore,  and  cleared  the  audi- 
ence with  a  jerk  of  the  arm  as  he  threw  eight, 
followed  by  nine  from  Phung.  But  they  crowded 
still  closer  now,  watching  for  the  last  throw.  It 
was  not  the  excitement  of  the  prize  that  held  them. 
A  woman — what  did  it  matter?  But  the  result  of 
a  gamble — that  did  interest  them. 

Ah  Toy  wiped  his  nose  on  his  arm  and  threw, 
airily,  a  six.  They  stood  now  Phung  twenty-two 
and  Ah  Toy  twenty.  What  would  the  final  cards 


250  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

do?  The  next  throw  settled  it.  Phung,  with  a 
wooden  face,  wiped  his  brow,  stretched  his  neck, 
and  turned  up  his  last  card — ten. 

There  was  a  noise  of  indrawn  breaths.  The  great 
wrestler  was  beaten,  and  the  girl  was  Phung's.  Ah 
Toy  broke  back,  lifted  up  arm  and  voice,  and 
declared  his  intention  of  inflicting  upon  Phung  a 
chastisement  that  would  cause  the  utmost  discom- 
fort and  degradation  to  him  and  his  totally  in- 
significant ancestors;  but  Lee  Tack,  alert  for  forms 
and  ceremonies,  caught  his  arm  and  recalled  him 
to  a  sense  of  the  proprieties.  He  opened  the  door. 
From  the  street  came  crude  music  and  the  shuffle 
of  feet.  Then  the  curtain  was  twitched  aside,  and 
the  giant  form  of  Ah  Toy  was  propelled  into  the 
midst  of  the  street  revellers. 

Well,  Plum-Blossom  was  Phung's,  and  he  paid 
the  bridal  money  and  took  her  home  with  him. 
And  next  day  the  wedding  feast  was  held  at  Lee 
Tack's — a  feast  of  many  dishes,  with  wines,  whisky, 
rice-spirit  and  fruits.  When  the  barbarity  was  at 
its  height  of  heat  and  clang,  Phung  slipped  a  hand 
to  Plum-Blossom  and  they  shuffled  from  the  restau- 
rant, and  out  to  Gill  Street,  and  so  to  the  shrine 
that  he  had  prepared  for  her,  radiant  with  blue 
and  silver  and  ivory,  and  odorous  with  punk-sticks. 

But  on  the  fourth  day  after  the  card-drawing 
there  were  those  who  twitted  Ah  Toy.  They  twitted 
him  with  the  loss  of  Plum-Blossom,  and  they  twitted 


MISS  PLUM-BLOSSOM  251 

him  for  not  showing  better  form  when  wrestling 
the  previous  night  on  the  stage  of  the  Poplar  Hippo- 
drome. And  they  twitted  him  for  being  outdone 
by  a  poor  thing  like  Sam  San  Phung.  Whereupon, 
being  a  little  discommoded  by  the  existing  order  of 
things  in  this  and  other  worlds,  he  went  from  cafe 
to  cafe  and  from  pub.  to  pub.,  and  drank  much 
ongaway;  and  at  the  Blue  Lantern  he  finished  with 
gin,  and  called  upon  his  ancestors  to  assist  him  in 
wreaking  vengeance  upon  one  who  had  wrought 
such  removal  of  gravity  among  those  who  had  once 
respected  him.  He  swayed  from  the  bar,  and 
marched  with  conquering,  if  erratic  step  down  the 
by-way  of  West  India  Dock  Road  to  Gill  Street,  to 
interview  this  Sam  San  Phung.  He  flung  his  tre- 
mendous weight  upon  the  door,  which  was  not 
fastened,  and  so  precipitated  himself  into  the  front 
room  of  his  enemy.  A'  friendly  table  helped  him 
to  recover  his  dignity,  and  he  looked  around.  At 
first  the  room  seemed  empty;  then  he  saw  Plum- 
Blossom  alone,  and  an  enormous  smile  spilt  his 
moon-like  face.  As  she  was  now  the  property  of 
Sam  San  Phung,  she  would  serve  his  purpose  of 
vengeance  equally  well. 

Behold  him,  then,  lurching  upon  her.  Behold 
him  mouthing  to  her  in  explanation  of  his  unhappi- 
ness.  Behold  the  gin  taking  command  of  him,  and 
impelling  him  to  weep  tears  of  self-pity.  Behold 
her  shrinking  from  him,  with  little  low  exclamations 


MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

of  terror.  Behold  him  grasping  her  in  his  rolling 
arms,  using  her  with  the  rage  of  the  man  who  is 
softly  answered. 

But  now — a  quick  whisper  of  feet  on  the  stairs, 
and  a  sharp  cry  behind  the  combatants.  Ah  Toy's 
hands  fell.  He  turned.  Behold  the  insignificant 
son  of  a  water-rat,  now  transformed  into  an  out* 
raged  husband,  fearful  in  dignity.  Behold  Sam  San 
Phung  in  the  doorway,  face  peering,  mouth  screwed. 

He  howled  and  sprang  into  the  room.  He  slid 
to  Plum-Blossom,  grasped  her,  and  drew  her  against 
him.  Instinctively  Ah  Toy  bent  low,  arms  out- 
stretched. Phung  saw  the  movement,  and  under- 
stood. This  Ah  Toy  would  fight  him  in  his  wrestling 
way  in  which  he  was  an  acknowledged  master.  Well, 
Phung  would  fight  in  his  own  way,  and  avenge  the 
disgrace  of  the  mauling  of  his  Plum-Blossom.  For 
some  moments  the  men  stared  at  each  other:  Ah 
Toy,  truculent,  hands  and  face  working,  Phung  im- 
mobile. Plum-Blossom  shrank  into  a  corner,  her 
little  robe  of  blue  linen  drawn  about  her  slender 
limbs. 

Ah  Toy  took  a  preliminary  step,  playing  for  an 
immediate  throw  from  which  the  water-rat  would 
arise  crippled.  Phung  did  not  meet  the  challenge, 
but  fell  back  till  he  stood  by  the  little  cupboard  in 
the  corner.  His  right  hand  disappeared.  Mr. 
Jamrach,  the  St.  George's  dealer  in  wild  live-stock, 
does  not  get  all  the  live-stock  that  is  landed  in  Lon- 


MISS  PLUM-BLOSSOM  253 

don.    Otherwise  Phung  would  not  be  as  happy  as  he 
is  to-day. 

Suddenly  his  right  hand  reappeared  under  his 
tunic.  It  quarrelled  nervously  with  something. 
Then  it  shot  forward,  and  something  went  full  at 
the  face  of  Ah  Toy.  At  the  sudden  touch  of  the 
furry,  quivering  thing  he  fell.  The  thing  crawled 
about  and  fastened  itself  now  here,  now  there.  He 
delivered  a  high-pitched  and  far-reaching  cry,  and 
fought  it  with  his  hands.  Then  he  grabbed  it.  It 
fought  him  hideously,  with  tiny  claws  and  teeth,  and 
the  champion  wrestler  screamed.  Hero  on  the  mat 
as  he  was,  this  new  opponent  had  found  him  out. 
He  rolled,  and  fought  to  find  his  feet  while  fighting 
the  thing;  but,  move  as  he  would,  the  thing  was 
about  him  at  all  points. 

At  last,  with  a  spasmodic  heave,  he  scrambled  to 
his  knees,  and  drew  his  knife.  The  monkey's  teeth 
were  in  his  arm.  He  slashed  at  it,  and  missed,  and 
blubbered,  while  Phung  stood  away  and  smiled  and 
smiled.  The  second  cut  got  home.  The  monkey 
fell;  and  he  dashed  for  the  door.  Phung,  still  smil- 
ing, shot  a  lightning  foot.  Ah  Toy  fell  again,  and 
again  the  little  claws  were  about  him ;  but  this  time 
he  was  up  swiftly,  dashed  it  away,  and  with  a  twist 
brought  the  great  knife  down  to  'Phung' s  left  side. 
There  was  a  rip  of  cloth.  Phung  fell.  Lurching 
and  blubbering,  Ah  Toy  bolted  through  the  door. 


254  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

And  now  Plum-Blossom  awoke,  and  gave  a  cry, 
and  would  have  fainted.  But  Phung  was  up  and 
at  her  side  at  once.  He  gathered  her  in  his  arms, 
as  one  would  a  flower,  and  soothed  her  with  gentle 
phrases.  Her  little  hands  ran  all  about  him,  fearing 
for  her  lord's  safety.  The  knife — where  did  it  go? 
He  was  wounded,  yes — he  was  in  pain? 

But  no.  Oh  no !  He  opened  his  tunic,  showing 
the  long  slit  made  by  Ah  Toy's  knife.  He  displayed 
the  blue  shirt,  which  showed  no  mark  at  all;  for 
inside  the  tunic,  which  he  threw  open,  hung  some- 
thing that  had  been  sliced  through,  and  had  saved 
him. 

"Phung' s  mascots,  O  Springtime  Blossom  of  the 
Plum  Tree.  Mascots — all-same  devil-chasers — 
give  Phung  his  Plum-Blossom  for  bride,  and  save 
Phung's  life." 

With  quick  fingers  he  detached  them  from  the 
fastening  that  held  them,  and  showed  them  to  the 
wondering  Plum-Blossom.  Then,  with  salutations, 
he  placed  them  before  the  little  joss  in  the  corner. 
There  were  two  Chinese  cards,  such  as  could  be 
slipped  from  the  tunic  while  pressing  the  crowd 
back  in  a  hot  room;  the  nine  and  ten  which,  pro- 
duced at  the  right  moment,  had  won  for  him  the 
game  in  Lee  Tack's  saloon. 

He  picked  up  the  gibbering  monkey  and  stowed 
it  in  its  basket  beneath  the  cupboard.  He  stretched 


MISS  PLUM-BLOSSOM  255 

hands  to  Plum-Blossom,  who  trotted  to  him.     He 
laughed. 

"Ho!"  Ah  Toy  come  here  no  more.  Phung 
make  him  plenty  frighten.  Ho !  embrace  me,  pao- 
pei,  embrace  me — nine  and  ten  times  1" 


THE  CANE 


— xvn— • 

THE  CANE 

THE  schoolmaster  of  the  mixed  school  in  the 
dock-side  quarter  was  a  most  circumspect 
man.  He  walked,  as  it  were,  in  a  frigid  and  dry 
odour  of  sanctity.  He  took  himself  and  his  posi- 
tion seriously,  and  his  manner  was  fitting  to  his 
calling.  He  looked  upon  himself  as  the  keeper 
of  a  charge.  The  young,  rude  citizens  of  the  future 
were  under  his  care,  and  it  behoved  him  to  walk 
warily  and  so  comport  himself  as  to  bring  no  faint 
suggestion  of  the  indecorous  before  the  notice  of 
the  young  minds  among  whom  he  spent  his  days. 

Living  in  this  fashion,  he  was,  to  a  large  extent, 
severed  from  the  realities  of  life,  and  there  were 
many  subjects  and  aspects  of  subjects  upon  which 
the  young  minds  could  have  enlightened  him.  But, 
by  his  training  and  calling,  he  was  incapable  of 
crediting  children  with  personality.  Children  were 
children,  and  youth  was  youth — or,  as  he  preferred 
to  name  it,  young  life.  The  child  was  not,  to  him, 
a  soul,  but  an  immature  adult.  His  class  was  not 
a  class  of  boys  and  girls,  but  grouped  specimens  of 

*59 


260  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Child.  As  a  giraffe  was  a  giraffe,  so  a  child  was 
a  child.  Such-and-such  would  a  child  think  upon  a 
given  subject;  such-and-such  would  be  its  conduct. 
He  had  got  the  child-mind  standardised  and  taped; 
and  that  was  all  there  was  to  it.  Psychology  in  the 
schoolroom  he  dismissed.  He  had  passed  his  exams., 
and  was  a  school  teacher,  and  possessed  all  the 
qualifications  which,  according  to  his  managers, 
completed  a  teacher's  equipment.  These  managers 
did  not  include  imagination  as  part  of  this  equip- 
ment. 

School  and  lodgings  and  a  seaside  holiday  in  the 
summer  were  his  life.  Theatres  were  beyond  his 
means,  and  few  new  books  were  obtainable.  His 
evenings  he  spent  in  his  bed-sitting-room,  correcting 
exercises,  rereading  his  old  books,  or  discussing  the 
newspaper  with  his  landlady,  and  smoking  two  pipes 
of  tobacco.  A  walk  round  the  houses  preceded  bed. 
He  chose  his  walks  carefully:  there  were  such  ter- 
rible places  in  the  neighbourhood — public-houses 
and  low  places  of  entertainment.  He  gave  these 
places  a  sad  glance  and  walked  hurriedly  past  them, 
lest  he  should  receive  contamination  which  might 
affect  his  pupils.  Apart  from  their  reputation  and 
unsavoury  atmosphere,  he  never  would  have  entered 
these  places.  So  conscientious  was  he,  this  meagre, 
parched  little  man,  that  he  felt  that  he  must,  like 
the  clergy,  hold  himself  aloof  from  all  human 
pleasure  save  of  the  mildest  sort.  He  must  stand 


THE  CANE  261 

outside  even  the  suggestion  of  reproach;  and  he 
had  therefore  enforced  upon  himself  total  abstinence 
from  liquor.  He  strove  to  be  a  shining  example  and, 
like  King  Wenceslas,  to  exude  moral  worth  and 
integrity  from  his  very  footsteps. 

His  school  was  a  mixed  school,  and  he  took 
classes  of  girls  and  boys  alternately.  The  scholars 
were  gathered  from  the  two-roomed  cottages  of 
the  side-alleys  of  the  district,  and  were  a  difficult 
team.  The  street  was  their  first  playground,  and 
when  they  came  to  school  the  task  of  breaking  them 
in  to  concentrated  study  was  no  casual  matter.  Born 
in  those  cramped  alleys,  and  running  wild  from 
babyhood,  their  sense  of  social  values  was  choked 
in  birth.  Among  the  methods  of  breaking  them 
in,  the  managers  gave  first  place  to  corporal  punish- 
ment, administered  indiscriminately  to  boys  and  girls 
alike.  They  held  that  it  was  the  only  punishment 
the  children  understood,  and  that  it  showed  beneficial 
results;  and  inattentive  or  unruly  girls  received  the 
cane  from  the  men  teachers  in  the  same  measure 
as  the  boys. 

When  he  had  first  taken  up  his  duties  he  was 
much  averse  from  observing  this  rule  against  the 
girls.  He  was  a  shy  man,  and  the  mere  fact  of 
taking  a  girl's  class  had  somewhat  perplexed  and 
disconcerted  him.  The  order  to  inflict  punishment 
with  the  cane  when,  in  his  opinion,  the  children 
merited  it,  still  further  abashed  him;  he  had  even 


262  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

protested.  Somehow  ...  it  seemed  to  him  .  .  . 
it  wasn't  quite  .  .  .  But  the  managers  said  "Rub- 
bish," and  pointed  out  that  this  was  a  low  and  unruly 
district,  and  that  they  were  a  rough  lot  of  girls 
from  slummy  homes,  and  he  would  have  endless 
trouble  and  disorder  unless  he  followed  the  school 
system.  It  was  all  for  their  good,  and  he  would 
be  failing  in  his  duty  as  teacher  if  he  did  not  use 
these  measures.  If  they  were  not  taught  to  behave 
now,  they  would  never  learn:  they  would  follow 
their  elders  of  the  district  and  develop  into  street 
wastrels.  They  concluded  by  telling  him  not  to  be 
silly,  and  there  was  then  nothing  more  to  be  said. 
When,  at  any  time,  he  was  told  not  to  be  silly,  he 
collapsed,  for  he  recognised  that  worldly  wisdom 
was  not  his  strong  point;  and  if  a  thing  were  ac- 
cepted as  usual,  he,  too,  accepted  it  without  further 
examination. 

So,  in  a  few  weeks,  he  had  become  accustomed 
to  the  school  and  his  classes,  and  now  inflicted 
punishment  on  the  girls,  perfunctorily  and  in  an 
absent  way,  whenever  their  conduct  required  it, 
and  thought  no  more  about  it.  He  had  discovered 
the  truth  of  what  the  managers  had  said  about 
unruly  characters.  Naturally  nervous,  he  hated  dis- 
order of  any  kind,  and  soon  found  that  without 
the  cane  he  could  not  maintain  quiet. 

He  thought  no  more  about  it  for  some  years. 
Then  some  silly  busybody,  without  knowledge  of 


THE  CANE  263 

the  district,  discovered  the  practice  of  this  form 
of  discipline,  and  wrote  to  a  leading  daily  paper 
about  it.  Quickly  it  became  public;  and,  when  other 
newspapers  took  it  up,  in  a  large  way,  the  story 
of  this  school  where  girls  were  caned  by  men,  a 
storm  broke  over  the  school  and  its  managers.  Let- 
ters appeared  denouncing  the  "odious  practice,"  the 
"frightfulness"  of  it,  the  "appalling  degradation"  of 
it,  for  masters  and  pupils.  For  weeks  the  con- 
troversy raged,  and  drastic  action  was  threatened; 
but  a  sudden  political  crisis  arising  at  this  point,  the 
papers  dropped  it,  and  it  passed  out  of  the  public 
mind.  The  managers  ordered  that  the  system 
should  continue. 

The  public  controversy  led,  naturally,  to  discus- 
sions among  the  teachers,  who  dismissed  it  pro- 
fessionally, as  a  journalistic  "stunt;"  as  foolish 
vapourings  by  people  who  didn't  understand;  and 
it  led  this  particular  teacher  to  a  study  of  the  corre- 
spondence. This  correspondence  set  him  thinking. 
Some  of  the  arguments  advanced  against  the  prac- 
tice were  curiously  vague,  full  of  dark  hints  that  were 
strange  to  him. 

He  began  to  be  disturbed.  He  began  to  take  an 
interest  in  the  matter,  and  to  find  in  these  letters 
much  that  he  had  never  before  perceived.  Grim, 
covert  suggestions  had  been  made,  and  they  re- 
mained with  him.  He  remembered  having  read 
somewhere  that  every  man  carried  with  him  a  demon, 


264  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

and  he  had  accepted  the  theory — about  other  meru 
Had  anyone  suggested  that  he  nursed  a  demon,  he 
would  have  laughed.  But  that  week  something 
happened  that  filled  him  with  fear.  He  had  occa- 
sion to  call  out  for  punishment  a  girl  who  had 
hitherto  given  him  no  trouble ;  Dolly  Latham,  a  big 
girl  of  thirteen.  Dolly  was  pert;  dark  of  hair  and 
eye  and  gay-footed;  a  girl  of  apple-blossom,  pink 
and  white,  adumbrating  the  golden  beauty  to  come. 
She  moved  with  the  delicious  insouciance  of  the 
child,  mixed  with  the  first  conscious  grace  of  woman; 
and  the  shy,  uncertain  lines  of  her  figure  carried  in 
their  promise  as  much  beauty  as  the  perfect  achieve- 
ment. 

The  thing  that  startled  him,  that  left  him  sitting 
scared  and  dumb  at  his  desk,  was,  that  after  he 
had  used  the  cane  upon  her,  and  she  was  returning 
to  her  seat,  she  flashed  a  backward  glance  at  him 
from  the  depths  of  her  big  eyes:  a  glance  that 
linked  itself  in  his  mind  with  the  curious  things 
upon  which  he  had  lately  pondered.  Until  this 
day  he  had  hardly  noticed  her.  She  had  given  little 
trouble,  and  had  been  to  him  but  one  of  a  group 
of  children,  a  unit,  identified  only  by  a  name.  It 
was  not  until  this  close  relationship  occurred  be- 
tween delinquent  and  master,  and  that  curious 
glance.  ...  It  sat  upon  his  mind. 

Next  day  he  had  occasion  again  to  punish  her, 
and  a  sharp  emotion  swept  over  him  and  drove  out 


THE  CANE  265 

the  detached  judicial  motive.  An  emotion  which 
filled  him,  on  the  one  side,  with  disgust,  as  he 
tried  to  ignore  it,  and,  on  the  other  side,  with  a 
cold  and  dark  delight.  He  feared  it  and  fought 
it  while  secretly  hugging  it.  That  night  he  walked 
home  in  a  mixed  state  of  concern  and  abandon;  and 
his  landlady  noted  his  condition,  and  he  was  con- 
scious of  her  attention,  and  cunningly  gave  her 
cause  to  think  he  had  been  drinking.  This  low  sub- 
terfuge, so  unusual  to  him,  set  him  wondering  still 
further  about  himself.  He  hardly  dared  to  think, 
lest  he  should  discover  somewhere  in  a  recess  of 
his  mind  something  that  knew  and  understood  the 
cause  of  his  disorder. 

He  wanted  to  talk  to  his  colleagues  about  it;  to 
discover  whether  they,  too,  had  suffered  these  queer 
disturbances  on  similar  occasions;  but  he  felt  some 
awkwardness  in  approaching  the  question.  If  he 
introduced  it  and  threw  out  hints,  they  might  mark 
him  as  a  monster.  Perhaps  he  was  a  monster.  Or 
perhaps  it  was  stupid  sensitiveness  on  his  side.  From 
the  attitude  they  had  taken  on  the  newspaper  at- 
tacks, it  was  clear  that  they  were  in  no  way  troubled 
by  their  duty  and  thought  nothing  of  the  detailed 
indictments.  It  was  a  part  of  the  day's  routine 
to  which  they  gave  no  consideration.  No,  he  could 
not  talk  to  them :  he  could  only  wonder  and  specu- 
late, and,  by  wondering,  he  slowly  fed  this  strange 
disorder. 


266  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS     • 

All  through  the  class  hours  he  was  conscious  of 
the  girl,  and  began  to  notice  that,  from  this  raw, 
unkempt  herd,  she  stood  out  bold,  bright,  alert. 
He  found  himself  making  a  mark  of  her,  and  doing 
deliberately  what  hitherto  he  had  done  perfunc- 
torily. He  seized  every  trivial  occasion  to  indulge 
himself  with  this  intoxicating  power,  concentrating 
upon  her,  and  even  manufacturing  excuses  for  call- 
ing her  out;  and  when  her  large  eyes  clashed  with 
his  he  was  filled  with  a  quiet  ferocity.  He  wanted 
to  hurt  her.  He  flicked  and  lashed  her  with  his 
tongue  throughout  the  day,  holding  her  up  to  the 
laughter  of  the  class;  and  he  noted,  with  a  pleasure 
he  could  not  stifle,  the  slow  crimson  that  crept  up 
her  face  as  the  chosen  words  stung  her.  He  dared 
not  honestly  recognise  the  dreadful  enjoyment  that 
was  his  as  he  stood  over  her,  cane  in  hand,  and 
she  stood  shrinking  before  him;  and  how  each  gasp 
of  pain  that  he  drew  from  her  was  coldly  echoed 
within  him.  But  something  in  him  did  recognise 
with  horror  that  Dolly  set  herself  in  every  way, 
by  inattention  and  unruly  behaviour,  to  challenge 
him.  The  more  often  she  was  whipped,  the  more 
she  seemed  to  presume  some  sinister  alliance  be- 
tween them ;  unspoken,  yet  known  to  both. 

"Can't  think  what's  come  over  my  genterman 
lately,"  his  landlady  said  to  her  next-door  lady. 
"  'E  don't  seem  like  the  same  man.  Always  was 


THE  CANE  267 

quiet,  but  Vs  got  quieter  lately.  And  a  funny  way 
about  him — sheepish,  like." 

He  grew  more  and  more  morose,  shutting  him- 
self away  from  all  intercourse.  He  began  to  won- 
der whether  the  ideas  that  rambled  in  his  mind 
were  perceived  by  others.  It  seemed  at  times,  to 
his  heated  fancy,  that  the  girls  of  his  class  began 
to  give  him  closer  attention.  Each  time  he  pun- 
ished a  girl  it  seemed  to  him  that  they  watched 
him  with  cute,  secret  glances.  When  he  called 
Dolly  out,  she  walked  out  flirtatiously,  and  it  seemed 
to  him  that  his  class  was  one  broad  grin.  He  knew 
that  all  of  them  were  aware  of  the  newspaper 
attacks  on  the  school,  and  he  began  to  wonder  if 
they  saw;  if  they  knew.  But  it  was  of  Dolly  that 
he  most  thought.  No  matter  how  severe  the  punish- 
ment, always,  as  she  returned  to  her  seat,  she  would 
toss  that  backward  glance  of  understanding.  He 
began  to  want  earnestly  to  talk  with  her;  to  discover 
what  that  bright  head  held;  to  reassure  himself  that 
she  was  just  an  idle,  careless  hoyden  of  the  slums, 
answering  discipline  with  the  facetious  defiance  of 
ill-breeding. 

So  he  thought  and  thought,  and  day  by  day  the 
beast  grew  within  him,  and  night  by  night  he  would 
go  TTome  to  his  lodgings,  stricken.  Horror  walked 
at  his  elbow  and  plucked  at  his  sleeve,  and  stabbed 
him  with  wink  and  leer.  He  lived  in  a  spate  of  light 
intoxication,  as  though  a  fluent  fire  were  playing 


268  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

within  him.  He  began  to  cast  about  him  for  means 
of  escape  from  this  possession.  He  thought  of  re- 
signing his  position,  and  finding  another  school 
where  the  custom  was  not  in  operation,  but  the 
thought  of  change  was  startling  to  him :  he  had  lived 
in  this  district  for  twenty  years  now.  And  some 
quiet,  chuckling  voice  inside  him  said  No;  a  quiet 
voice,  but  stronger  than  the  strongest  of  the  op- 
posing voices. 

He  knew  now  what  it  was  that  he  nursed  within 
him,  and  he  ceased  to  think  or  to  care.  He  sur- 
rendered himself  to  the  exquisite  drug,  and  thought 
with  delight  of  the  secret  paradise  to  which  he 
had  access. 

And  one  afternoon,  when  he  had  dismissed  the 
class,  he  kept  Dolly  in,  and  punished  her  in  private, 
ferociously,  and  talked  with  her. 

It  was  late  when  he  let  her  go,  and  the  sidelong 
rays  of  the  evening  sun  as  they  slid  through  the 
schoolroom  windows  slanted  upon  his  desk,  and  a 
poor,  crumpled  man  that  sat  before  it,  bowed  and 
sick.  When,  after  some  long  time,  he  raised  his 
eyes  they  fell  upon  the  school  cane.  With  a  sudden 
effort  he  roused  himself.  He  sprang  from  the  chair, 
seized  the  frightful  thing,  twisted  it  into  many  shape- 
less fragments,  and  hurled  it  to  a  corner,  with  horrid 
curses  upon  those  who  had  compelled  him  to  use  it. 

Then  he  took.his  hat  and  coat  and  went  out.  He 
was  last  seen  on  a  wharf  at  the  river's  edge. 


THE  SONG  OF  HO  LING 


— xvm— 

THE  SONG  OF  HO  LING 

BEHIND  the  small  candle-lit  windows  of  a  cot- 
tage in  Poplar  High  Street  maladroit  fingers 
were  plucking  from  a  Chinese  guitar  a  yearning 
song  of  two  notes,  and  a  metallic  voice  was  singing 
out  of  time  and  out  of  tune  with  the  guitar.  Fingers 
and  voice  belonged  to  young  Ho  Ling,  and  the 
song  was  a  song  of  Acknowledgment  and  Avowal, 
On  the  first  notes  of  the  song  the  curtains  of  the 
window  opposite  were  twitched  aside,  and  between 
them  appeared  the  head  and  shoulders  of  Amber 
Goldstein.  About  the  head  and  shoulders  swirled 
an  eddy  of  dense  auburn  curls,  and  the  bright  mouth 
and  fine  nose  were  lit  by  yet  brighter  eyes.  A 
girl  of  spirit  and  ability. 

Nightly  this  ceremony  was  performed.  Nightly 
at  six  o'clock  Ho  Ling  would  drag  his  guitar  from 
its  place  beneath  the  bed  and  carry  it  to  the  win- 
dow; and  there  he  would  sit  and  sing  to  Amber 
Goldstein  his  song  of  a  service  rendered  and  of 
an  holy  obligation  as  yet  unfulfilled,  but  to  be  ful- 
filled at  whatsoever  time  he  should  be  called  upon 

271 


872  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

by  his  benefactress,  the  young  lady  across  the  road. 
And  nightly  the  young  lady  would  appear  at  her 
window  and  smile  a  quick  acknowledgment  of  his 
declaration  of  fidelity.  And  Ho  Ling  would  smile 
back,  worshipping  the  marvellous,  pale,  bright 
beauty  of  her. 

Very  pious  was  Ho  Ling  in  his  observance  of 
the  teachings  of  the  Four  Books.  None  so  devote 
in  worship  of  his  ancestors  and  in  service  to  his 
aged  father  with  whom  he  lived.  None  so  careful 
a  student  of  the  Book  of  Filial  Piety  and  the  I-li 
and  the  Li-Chi.  From  the  hands  of  the  white 
woman  across  the  road  he  had  received  a  service. 
He  was  under  a  deep  obligation  to  her.  His  faith 
required  that  that  obligation  be  discharged;  now 
or  later,  he  or  some  other  member  of  the  house 
of  Ho  must  serve  that  woman  at  any  time  when 
she  stood  in  need  of  service.  Nothing  must  come 
between  him  and  the  performance  of  that  solemn 
duty.  He  must  wait  and  watch  until  occasion  arose 
for  the  redemption  of  his  assurance. 

The  favour  which  she  had  bestowed  upon  him 
was  of  a  somewhat  intimate  nature;  nothing  less 
than  misleading  the  police  in  their  marshalling  of 
evidence  against  his  old  and  too  gay-hearted  father. 
It  was  Amber  Goldstein  who,  for  some  womanly 
whimsy — possibly  some  amused  concern  at  the  im- 
potent despair  of  Ho  Ling;  possibly  some  fleeting 
thought  of  his  forlorn  butterfly  smile — it  was  she 


THE  SONG  OF  HO  LING  273 

who  smeared  her  fresh  lips  with  a  lie,  and  proved 
to  the  police  that  old  Ho  Wong  was  not  a  bird, 
and  could  not  be  in  two  places  at  once.  Dearer 
than  life  to  Ho  Ling  was  this  aged  and  roguish 
father  of  his.  For  him  he  lived  and  worked  and 
strove,  and  sometimes  stole,  following  the  precepts 
of  the  Books;  and  a  service  done  to  the  old  man 
was  esteemed  by  him  more  highly  than  a  greater 
service  done  to  himself. 

The  charge  was  that  old  Ho  Wong  was  con- 
cerned in  the  stabbing  of  Lop-ear  Langford,  an 
officer  of  the  Blue  Lantern's  Army  of  Hiccupation. 
The  charge  was  truly  laid.  Lop-ear  Langford  had 
pulled  the  nose  of  Ho  Wong  and  had  knocked  over 
his  drink :  "learning  the  yeller  bahstuds  to  keep  their 
places/'  he  called  it;  and  the"  night  following  Ho 
Wong  had  waited  in  an  alley-way  for  the  Lop-ear, 
and  had  used  his  knife  upon  him  in  a  way  sufficient 
to  justify  a  conviction  for  causing  grievous  bodily 
harm.  Two  people  saw  and  identified  Ho  Wong, 
and  the  case  looked  bad  for  him.  In  exceeding 
agitation  of  mind  and  body,  his  dutiful  son  went 
about  the  Quarter,  seeking  to  discover  some  who 
had  seen  his  sire  at  that  hour  in  other  places;  but 
as  he  had  but  four  or  five  shillings  to  his  hand,  he 
found  none  who  could  say,  assuredly,  that  they  had 
seen  him. 

It  chanced,  however,  that  the  two  witnesses 
against  him  had  themselves  made  frequent  appear- 


274  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

ances  in  the  dock,  and  the  magistrate  hinted  to  the 
police  that  such  witnesses  required  corroboration. 
This  could  not  be  brought;  wherefore,  when  Amber 
Goldstein  voluntarily  came  forward,  and  stated  that 
Ho  Wong  had  spent  the  whole  evening  in  her  shop, 
playing  chess,  the  charge  was  dismissed.  For  Amber 
was  a  respectable  young  woman,  with  a  thriving 
second-hand  clothes  business.  The  police  had  no 
official  knowledge  of  her,  and  agreed  that  her  testi- 
mony might  be  considered  as  unimpeachable. 

Upon  this,  young  Ho  Ling  came  to  Amber  with 
many  protestations  of  gratitude,  desiring  to  know 
in  what  manner  he  might  repay  her.  But  Amber 
made  light  of  it;  dismissed  it,  airily,  °.s  a  matter  of 
no  consequence;  as  a  thing  that  was  done  perfunc- 
torily, the  outcome  of  a  mood,  carrying  with  it 
nothing  to  justify  a  second  thought.  She  did  not 
say  that  virtue  was  its  own  reward;  but  she  implied 
that  she  had  done  this  to  please  herself,  and  that 
there  was  nothing  to  make  a  song  about.  But 
Ho  Ling  ransacked  his  poor  room ;  and  came  across 
with  gifts;  a  cast-off  opium  pipe  of  bamboo,  a  Chi- 
nese banner,  two  little  tasselled  devil-chasers,  an 
empty  ginger-jar  and  his  guitar.  But  Amber  would 
have  nothing.  She  smiled  upon  his  gifts,  and 
refused  them;  and  when  he  pressed  them  upon  her, 
she  drove  him,  in  mock  exasperation,  from  her  shop, 
and  commanded  him  never  to  mention  it  again. 

But  he  was  not  so  easily  quieted.     What  was 


THE  SONG  OF  HO  LING  275 

to  her  a  trifle,  an  idle  digression,  an  unrehearsed 
gesture,  was  to  him  a  sacrament,  a  precious  gift, 
something  whose  value  could  not  be  weighed  or 
measured  or  computed;  something  that  would  rest 
upon  him  and  his  family  until  requited.  Had  it 
been  a  mere  casual  service,  costing  her  nothing,  its 
effect  upon  him  would  have  been  the  same.  But 
it  was  more:  she  had  made  a  sacrifice  for  him; 
she  had  told  a  lie  in  his  behalf.  It  could  not  be 
forgotten. 

And,  deliberately  flouting  her  statement,  that  it 
was  nothing  to  make  a  song  about,  he  retired  to 
his  room  and  made  a  song  about  it;  and,  as  I  have 
told  you,  sang  it  to  her  every  evening  thereafter. 

His  honourable  papa,  however,  was  not  so  zealous 
as  himself  in  observing  the  precepts  of  the  founder 
of  the  ancient  line  of  Ho,  and  the  song  made 
frequent  quarrels  between  them.  Ho  Wong's  at- 
titude towards  these  matters  was  rather  that  of 
the  white  man  than  the  yellow — "I  didn't  ask  her 
to  do  it.  If  it  pleases  people  to  go  out  of  their 
way  to  help  others,  let  them  do  it.  If  they  didn't 
like  doing  it  they  wouldn't  do  it.  We  didn't  ask 
for  it.  We  have  given  thanks,  and  that's  enough." 
And  he  rated  his  son  soundly  for  wasting  his  eve- 
nings by  singing  to  Amber  Goldstein,  and  hanging 
about  her  shop  during  the  day,  watching  for  oppor- 
tunity to  serve  her.  And  as  young  Ho  Ling  loved 
his  father,  he  suffered  under  these  reproaches. 


276  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Often  he  tried  to  make  his  father  acknowledge  the 
solemn  obligation  under  which  the  house  of  Ho 
rested,  but  his  father  only  made  signs  with  his 
fingers  and  spoke  the  Chinese  equivalent  of  "Rats!" 
It  seems  that  his  father  had  little  respect  for  the 
ancient  house  of  Ho :  so  long  as  he  could  eat  his 
rice  in  tranquillity  he  felt  that  he  could  comfortably 
leave  the  house  of  Ho  to  look  after  itself.  Venera- 
tion of  family  history,  usually  strong  in  fathers  and 
weak  in  sons,  was  here  to  be  found  only  in  the  son. 

Ho  Wong  spoke  further,  and  in  harsh  terms,  of 
his  son's  subjection  to  this  white  woman,  fearing 
that  she  was  doing  him  a  bit  of  "no-good,"  and  was 
making  him  neglectful  of  his  true  business  of  touting 
for  lodgers  for  the  lodging-houses — on  commission 
— and  thereby  reducing  the  slender  income  and  sup- 
plies of  rice-spirit  of  himself.  It  did  not  need  a 
peevish  father  to  observe  that  Ho  Ling,  from  grati- 
tude for  service  rendered,  was  speedily  drifting 
towards  a  deeper  feeling  for  the  benefactress. 

"She  is  a  woman,  and  she  is  white,  O  son  with 
the  brains  of  the  peacock.  If  she  looks  thus  fondly 
upon  you  at  evenings  in  response  to  your  song — 
which,  to  my  untutored  ear,  is  as  the  grinding  of 
iron  wheels  upon  sandstone — it  is  because  she  desires 
to  ensnare  you  and  work  her  guile  upon  you.  This 
person,  who  has  seen  the  passing  of  many  vears, 
might — were  he  to  cast  off  the  restraint  of  experi- 
ence— find  something  not  wholly  displeasing  in  her 


THE  SONG  OF  HO  LING  277 

pale-faced  beauty.  But  I  am  past  your  age,  and 
am  wise — and  poor.  Think  not  that  I  speak  against 
her  out  of  rivalry  with  you.  Were  I  dowered  with 
your  youth  and  vigour  and  attainments — and 
ignorance — and  she  smiled  upon  me,  I  do  not  say 
that  I  would  not  in  some  measure  imitate  the  accom- 
plished manoeuvres  of  the  duck  expiring  under  a 
thunder-storm.  But  it  is  not  so.  I  am  of  an  age  to 
be  read  in  the  ways  of  woman.  Mysterious  and 
deadly  are  they  all  towards  men,  and  most  dark 
and  hostile  when  they  are  white-skinned.  There- 
fore, O  son,  take  heed.  For  there  is  that  in  the  face 
of  the  white  woman  which  is  not  for  your  good. 
She  will  bring  sorrow  upon  you,  my  son.  Ay,  and 
sorrow  upon  me  also.  Did  you  not  last  week  bring 
home  a  barely-to-be-looked-upon  three  shillings  for 
the  sustenance  of  your  much-enduring  father?  Take 
heed." 

Whereto  Ho  Ling  lifted  up  his  voice  and  cried: 
"O  my  father,  nothing  holds  with  me  before  the 
desire  to  serve  my  august  and  venerable  father. 
But  is  it  not  clear  to  you  that  but  for  this  white 
woman  my  august  father  would  be  languishing  in 
a  cold  and  indescribably  dreadful  English  prison, 
eating  the  food  of  coolies  and  toiling  for  white  mas- 
ters? O  my  father,  great  debt  our  house  owes  to 
this  woman,  for  she  saved  us  from  dishonour  and 
you  from  misery.  I  cannot  look  upon  her  without 
thinking  of  that  load  of  service  to  be  discharged. 


278  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Surely  virtue  and  beauty  must  dwell  in  one  who 
could  so  venture  herself  as  to  render  service  to 
us  who  are  nothing  to  her?" 

To  which  old  Ho  Wong  again  spoke  the  Chinese 
phrase  implying  "Rats!" 

But  a  week  later  the  occasion  of  their  quarrel  was 
removed.  Opportunity  was  given  to  Ho  Ling  to 
redeem  his  vows,  and  set  free  the  house  of  Ho  from 
its  obligation.  He  came  home  on  Saturday  evening, 
and  handed  two  shillings  to  his  venerable  father,  as 
his  week's  allowance  for  social  dalliance;  and  when 
his  father  demanded  more,  he  replied  that  his 
labours  had  been  but  ill  rewarded  that  week,  and 
there  was  no  more,  save  what  should  keep  them  in 
food.  And  his  father  rose  and  employed  terms  of 
no-veneration  against  his  son,  accusing  him  of  hav- 
ing wasted  time  upon  the  white  woman  which  might 
better  have  been  used  in  earning  money.  He  spoke 
of  himself  as  suffering  under  emotions  of  the  most 
disagreeable  and  hardly-to-be-endured  nature,  and 
went  angrily. 

Left  alone,  Ho  Ling  moved  for  awhile  about 
the  room;  then,  having  sung  his  evening  song,  and 
waited  vainly  for  acknowledgment  from  the  op- 
posite wwidow,  he  too  went  out  and  mixed  himself 
in  the  melancholy  turmoil  of  Chinatown's  evening. 
He  walked  up  West  India  Dock  Road,  and  stopped 
at  the  Causeway,  and  stood  looking  along  its  narrow 
length.  In  its  primrose  twilight  many  figures 


THE  SONG  OF  HO  LING  279 

strolled,  stood,  shuffled  and  turned.  He  stood  in 
blank  indecision  for  some  moments ;  then,  moved  by 
some  impulse,  he  glided  into  its  inviting  dusk,  and 
passed  through  it  to  Narrow  Street.  Along  this  he 
walked  some  way  until  he  came  to  the  derelict 
wharves.  Here  he  stood  for  some  moments  snuffing 
like  a  dog  at  the  dark  perfume  of  the  water-side, 
and  gazing  across  the  river,  which  threw  up  a  leaden 
light. 

He  was  turning  to  the  Causeway  again  when  he 
heard  voices.  He  looked  round,  and  saw  nobody; 
but  from  behind  a  pile  of  rotting  barrels  fell  a 
cascade  of  sibilants;  and  following  it  a  firm,  sharp 
voice:  "You  leave  me  alone!  D'y'ear?  Else  I'll 
call  the  police!'1 

The  voice  of  Amber  Goldstein.  Hot  upon  it  fol- 
lowed the  thin,  shrilly  voice  of  his  father,  who  spoke 
English  so  chaotically  that  even  sailors  could  not 
understand  him.  Ho  Ling  moved  forward  to  get 
a  view  of  the  disputants  and  discover  what  was  to-do. 
Here  were  his  two  nearest  oiies  quarrelling:  he  must 
intervene,  and  skilfully,  without  giving  offence  to 
either.  As  he  turned  the  corner,  Amber's  voice  rose 
again.  "I  dunno  wod  yer  talking  about.  But  you 

leave  me  alone,  yeh  dirty  beast!  Else  I'll " 

And  he  saw  that  his  father  held  Amber  by  the  wrist, 
and  was  pushing  her,  and  that  she  stood  on  the  edge 
of  the  wharf  with  her  back  to  the  water.  A  mo- 
ment's loss  of  balance  and  she  would  be  over. 


280  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Without  thinking,  he  sprang  forward  to  place 
himself  between  them  and  part  them.  But,  as  he 
did  so  Amber,  already  scared,  saw  only  an  antic 
figure  leaping  upon  her  out  of  the  dusk;  and,  antici- 
pating some  fresh  peril,  tried  to  step  aside  to  avoid 
it.  Flurried,  she  missed  her  footing  and  slipped 
She  slithered  and  kicked  for  a  moment  over  the  edge 
of  the  wharf,  and  grabbed  the  sleeve  of  Ho  Wong, 
who  had  her  wrist.  Then,  together,  they  shot  over 
into  the  river. 

A  flood-tide  was  beating  up;  and  Ho  Ling  saw 
his  father  and  his  benefactress  struggling  against  the 
currents.  Neither,  he  knew,  could  swim.  A  quick 
glance  satisfied  him  that  th£re  was  no  boat  within 
hail  and  that  the  wharf  was  bare  of  rope  or  belt. 
He  knew  that  he  must  go  in;  he  knew  that  with 
that  tide  running  he  could  not  save  both.  In  that 
moment,  he  was  faced  with  a  frightful  problem. 
Which  must  come  first — his  sacred  blood-tie  with 
his  father  or  the  equally  sacred  obligation  to  the 
white  woman  who  had  served  his  house. 

Through  his  mind  flashed  the  words  of  The  Book 
of  Filial  Piety  enjoining  utmost  sacrifice  for  the 
parent's  sake ;  and  with  them  the  words  of  Mencius 
on  the  solemnity  of  discharging  services  rendered 
by  strangers.  His  father  was  at  the  point  of  death, 
and  he  could  save  him.  But  his  benefactress  was 
in  like  position,  and  he  recalled  his  song  and  its 
solemn  vow  made  before  the  joss.  Here  now  was 


THE  SONG  OF  HO  LING  281 

the  opportunity  to  perform  that  vow  and  discharge 
the  obligation  from  the  house  of  Ho,  Now  or 
never — for  he  knew  that  Amber  Goldstein  had  no 
family,  no  blood-relation  upon  whom  he  might  later 
discharge  it.  Now  was  the  time  or  for  ever  he 
must  wander  with  this  burden  upon  him  and  his 
house,  this  unrequited  service  to  lie  as  a  curse  upon 
his  children  and  their  children's  children. 

Yet  his  father — dare  he  neglect  him  even  for  such 
a  vow  as  this?  After  all,  his  father  was  a  man, 
a  father  of  a  son,  and  this  other  was  but  a  woman 
— a  white  woman.  Too,  she  herself  had  made 
nothing  of  the  service,  and  had  persistently  declared 
that  it  called  for  no  reward.  But  there  were  his 
vow  and  his  song.  Yet  the  most  holy  of  all  ties 
bound  him  to  his  father.  What  would  be  said  of 
him  by  the  spirits  when  it  became  known  that  he 
left  his  father  to  die  and  saved  some  white  woman? 
Yet  how  would  he  stand  when  the  charge  was  made 
that  he  had  left  a  benefactress  to  die,  with  his  ob- 
ligations undischarged,  when  the  power  to  save  her 
was  in  his  hands?  There  was  the  unchangeable  law 
of  requital  of  service  and  sacrifice ;  the  more  stringent 
in  such  a  case  as  his,  where  the  service  was  bestowed 
by  a  white.  And  there  was  the  everlasting  law  of 
utmost  duty  to  parents. 

For  two  seconds  Ho  Ling  stood,  while  he  thought 
of  these  things.  This  short,  sharp  conflict  of  in- 
stincts, battling  with  each  other,  lasted  no  longer. 


282  MORE  LIMEHOUSE  NIGHTS 

Then,  his  head  whirling  with  the  combating  im- 
pulses, he  dropped  his  canvas  coat,  poised  on  his  toes, 
and  leapt  to  the  water.  As  his  head  split  the  water, 
the  icy  shock  of  it  cleared  him,  and  he  made  his 
decision.  With  sturdy  strokes  he  swam  towards  one 
of  the  struggling  figures. 
Which? 


THE    END 


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